Crybaby

This morning I saw The Chainsaw. He took off the rubberbands (as promised) and began to torture me (as promised.) And after my short jaunt into I-want-to-curl-up-into-a-ball-and-escape-this-world-Land I brushed my teeth and was ready to go. Free of elastic tyranny. With a couple hours to kill before my appointment with Dr.Styrt I thought breakfast from a plate instead of a cup would be a wonderful idea. Buckwheat pancakes and scrambled eggs for me, thank you. It was delicious. I had to take it slow though. Little pieces, little bites. I realized I wouldn't be eating a cheeseburger just yet today.
Everyone at the ortho office was happy to see me and loved the results so far. They brought up my initial exam photos for a quick comparison and it's pretty stunning. My tech Kira snipped the surgical hooks off and before I knew it I was banded shut again.

Wait, what? Crap.

I knew they'd be putting rubberbands on again but I thought I'd be able to open my mouth with them on. No such luck. But at least I can take them off to eat and brush and perform what feels like and oral equivalent of hari kari. Which brings me to my main topic for the day.

Physical Therapy hurts. It hurts a lot. Do not be fooled. I don't know why it seems like no one mentions this part in their blogs. Have I not been paying attention? I'd like to think I'm a pretty tough guy but I dunno. Seventeen tongue depressors later and I'm a weeping twit. Seriously. It's a rare day on earth that I shed a tear, but this is the most painful thing I've ever endured. I thought it would get better by talking and eating and yawning without the elastic restraints, but that thought went out the window with the new rubberbands today. I see the Chainsaw in two weeks. We'll have to see how things pan out.