Elective Cosmetic Surgery
The ER doctor, taking a close look at my face, says to me, “I’m not sure how all these pieces fit back together. Maybe it will become clearer once we start..” Now, a normal human being might respond adversely to this situation. But, I, being completely insane, and finding a great deal of humor in the confluence of bizarre circumstances that has landed me in the emergency room in the first place, but mainly because I’m insane, quip back, “Well, Doc, do you think we can take this opportunity to make some improvements?”
**
I’m sitting on a bench talking to this lady about C.S. Lewis’ contention that a man should be the head of the household, when all of a sudden I hear a dog screaming. Most of you, I imagine, have never heard a dog scream. You may even think that the only sounds a dog is capable of making are a growl, bark, or whimper. But this is not the case. Dogs can scream just like humans. Indeed, the resemblance in sound is disturbingly similar. But, unlike humans, dogs reserve the sound for times when they really mean it.
I scan over to my left and my dog is involved. Great! As I’m running the 50 feet or so over to the two dogs, I’m trying to evaluate what exactly is happening, but it just appears that the two dogs are standing side by side, only that one of them is screaming. When I get to arms’ length, I say to myself, “Oh no!” (in not so many words). The other dog has a hold of my dog’s collar. That’s not so bad. What is bad is that somehow the collar, or the dog, has gotten flipped around such that the other dog’s jaw is literally knotted in my dog’s collar. He’s the one screaming. My dog isn’t making any noise, because the knot has taken the slack out of his collar and he can no longer breathe.
**
I didn’t see how exactly this occurred, but I have a theory. Little Brady, the other dog, likes to grab a hold of dog’s collars. You may not know this either, but all dogs have a signature move. Some dog’s bite ankles. Some dogs nip at ears. Brady goes for the collar. Most of the time, you can figure out from a dog’s signature move what he was bred to do. You can envision that at one time or another, such behavior served a purpose.
But then there’s my dog. His signature move is a flying helicopter kick. Now, I’m not going to pretend to be disappointed that my dog looks like a disciple of Chuck Norris. I think it’s the greatest signature dog move ever. I’m merely pointing out that it does not now, nor could it ever have, served a purpose, evolutionarily speaking. Unless of course he was originally bred to be the companion to… a ninja.
It’s likely difficult for you to imagine a dog doing a flying helicopter kick, so I’ll walk you through the process. First, he gets up on his hind legs, so he’s standing up like a human. This serves two purposes: (1) it builds momentum and (2) it gives the other dog that false sense of security that my dog is of conventional fighting style. Next, he takes his front paws, which are now some 3 feet in the air and drives them to the ground. Simultaneously, he stiffens his back such that as his forequarter descends, his hind quarter gains lift. As his hind quarter starts to rise, he twists his hips, creating torque and causing his back legs to spin out towards the other dog. If he left it at that, it would be a simple spin kick, which would be impressive enough… for a dog. But, that, I tell you, is only the beginning! As his front legs hit the ground, he twists and pushes off, launching his entire body airborne, his arms and legs twirling about in the air like the blades of a helicopter. After doing a complete 360, he usually lands on top of the other dog’s back, straddling it, as a human would a horse. Few dogs know how to respond to an aerial attack, so it’s at this point that my dog usually wins.
I suspect that on this fateful night, when my pup used his signature move, the other dog had a firm hold of his collar, with the jumping and spinning tying a knot around his jaw.
**
I dove in and tried to take my dog’s collar off. No luck. In order to undo the buckle, you have to pull it tighter, which was all but impossible with the slack now wrapped around Brady’s lower jaw. I then tried to slide the entire collar off over my dog’s head, but again without luck. It was too tight. Meanwhile, Brady’s owner is screaming that her dog’s jaw is going to break (if it hasn’t already). I see that my dog is opening and closing his mouth, trying to get some air into his lungs. This is bad, very bad.
Here’s where things get a little cloudy. All of a sudden, I’m able to remove the collar with great ease. I assumed, wrongly it turns out, that a guy standing nearby also jumped in and somehow freed Brady from underneath the collar. That would explain why the collar suddenly came off so easily, with the slack returning, but it would also mean that my efforts were, at that point, superfluous, Brady already being rescued, my dog now able to breathe. I sat back on the ground, disappointed in myself, but happy that the dogs were free.
I got up to make sure that both the pups were ok. Brady is fine, it appears. His owner is screaming for someone else to take a look at him to make sure he’s ok, her fearing the worst. He has a tiny cut in his mouth, his jaw is not broken. I look at my dog and he seems fine. That’s when I notice that his mouth is covered in blood. I look down and my shirt and jeans are covered in blood. In fact, there’s blood all over the ground. What the heck? With only one possibility remaining, I turn to that guy and ask, “How do I look?”
“Not so good.”
**
A few days later, the two other people would explain to me what happened. I was the only one in with the dogs. I couldn’t get my dog’s collar off but at some point in the struggle, our heads collided. The soft flesh around my mouth yielded to his sharp teeth and blood started spewing everywhere. I suspect that once I started spewing, my body was shot through with adrenaline, which made it so much easier for me to remove the collar. It was like the story about a woman lifting a car off her kid, but in miniature. In fact, the other guy, who I thought may have jumped in to pull out the other dog, says that he never got closer than 4 feet (but that even he got blood on him from that distance!).
**
Back in the ER, the doctor puts in the last stitch and says, “WOW! That came together quite nicely!” He calls over the nurse practitioner who agrees, “Wow! That looks really clean. Well done.” “Don’t act so surprised,” I said, “You’re making me nervous.” Honestly, the last thing you want to hear is a doctor say, “Woohoo! I did it! I ACTUALLY did it. This is unbelievable. High Five!”
**
Back at the park, the lady with whom I had been sitting on the bench has returned from her car with a towel and a box of, what are basically, baby wipes. I took one wipe, put it to my face, told her that was all I needed and walked away. She insisted that I take the towel, but I didn’t think I needed it. After all, whatever was wrong with me hardly hurt. In fact, I didn’t even notice when it happened. It didn’t occur to me to think that all the blood on my clothes, the people around me, the two dogs, and the ground, all came from my face. I felt fine.
It wasn’t until I got home that I realized that the part of my mouth where my top lip hits my bottom lip was severed and that a chunk of my upper lip was completely missing. I looked around my mouth to see if maybe it was just misplaced, but it wasn’t. It was back at the dog park and I wasn’t going to find it anytime soon. I called my brother, who’s a doctor, and told him roughly what happened, sans details, and he said I had to go in for some shots, antibiotics, and stitches.
This is all pretty ridiculous, I thought to myself. What are the chances?
**
The wound is nearly completely healed now. The doctor really did a remarkable job. There’s hardly any scarring. And considering the train wreck that my mouth was in when I walked into the ER, I find it hard to believe that I won’t at least have a gnarly facial scar to show for this. I could have used one. Oh well. Maybe next time.
I’m fine. The pups are fine. And in the end, I guess I did get to play hero, although you wouldn’t know it by looking at my face! Sadly, I look exactly the same, not better, not worse, just the same. High Five!
**
I’m sitting on a bench talking to this lady about C.S. Lewis’ contention that a man should be the head of the household, when all of a sudden I hear a dog screaming. Most of you, I imagine, have never heard a dog scream. You may even think that the only sounds a dog is capable of making are a growl, bark, or whimper. But this is not the case. Dogs can scream just like humans. Indeed, the resemblance in sound is disturbingly similar. But, unlike humans, dogs reserve the sound for times when they really mean it.
I scan over to my left and my dog is involved. Great! As I’m running the 50 feet or so over to the two dogs, I’m trying to evaluate what exactly is happening, but it just appears that the two dogs are standing side by side, only that one of them is screaming. When I get to arms’ length, I say to myself, “Oh no!” (in not so many words). The other dog has a hold of my dog’s collar. That’s not so bad. What is bad is that somehow the collar, or the dog, has gotten flipped around such that the other dog’s jaw is literally knotted in my dog’s collar. He’s the one screaming. My dog isn’t making any noise, because the knot has taken the slack out of his collar and he can no longer breathe.
**
I didn’t see how exactly this occurred, but I have a theory. Little Brady, the other dog, likes to grab a hold of dog’s collars. You may not know this either, but all dogs have a signature move. Some dog’s bite ankles. Some dogs nip at ears. Brady goes for the collar. Most of the time, you can figure out from a dog’s signature move what he was bred to do. You can envision that at one time or another, such behavior served a purpose.
But then there’s my dog. His signature move is a flying helicopter kick. Now, I’m not going to pretend to be disappointed that my dog looks like a disciple of Chuck Norris. I think it’s the greatest signature dog move ever. I’m merely pointing out that it does not now, nor could it ever have, served a purpose, evolutionarily speaking. Unless of course he was originally bred to be the companion to… a ninja.
It’s likely difficult for you to imagine a dog doing a flying helicopter kick, so I’ll walk you through the process. First, he gets up on his hind legs, so he’s standing up like a human. This serves two purposes: (1) it builds momentum and (2) it gives the other dog that false sense of security that my dog is of conventional fighting style. Next, he takes his front paws, which are now some 3 feet in the air and drives them to the ground. Simultaneously, he stiffens his back such that as his forequarter descends, his hind quarter gains lift. As his hind quarter starts to rise, he twists his hips, creating torque and causing his back legs to spin out towards the other dog. If he left it at that, it would be a simple spin kick, which would be impressive enough… for a dog. But, that, I tell you, is only the beginning! As his front legs hit the ground, he twists and pushes off, launching his entire body airborne, his arms and legs twirling about in the air like the blades of a helicopter. After doing a complete 360, he usually lands on top of the other dog’s back, straddling it, as a human would a horse. Few dogs know how to respond to an aerial attack, so it’s at this point that my dog usually wins.
I suspect that on this fateful night, when my pup used his signature move, the other dog had a firm hold of his collar, with the jumping and spinning tying a knot around his jaw.
**
I dove in and tried to take my dog’s collar off. No luck. In order to undo the buckle, you have to pull it tighter, which was all but impossible with the slack now wrapped around Brady’s lower jaw. I then tried to slide the entire collar off over my dog’s head, but again without luck. It was too tight. Meanwhile, Brady’s owner is screaming that her dog’s jaw is going to break (if it hasn’t already). I see that my dog is opening and closing his mouth, trying to get some air into his lungs. This is bad, very bad.
Here’s where things get a little cloudy. All of a sudden, I’m able to remove the collar with great ease. I assumed, wrongly it turns out, that a guy standing nearby also jumped in and somehow freed Brady from underneath the collar. That would explain why the collar suddenly came off so easily, with the slack returning, but it would also mean that my efforts were, at that point, superfluous, Brady already being rescued, my dog now able to breathe. I sat back on the ground, disappointed in myself, but happy that the dogs were free.
I got up to make sure that both the pups were ok. Brady is fine, it appears. His owner is screaming for someone else to take a look at him to make sure he’s ok, her fearing the worst. He has a tiny cut in his mouth, his jaw is not broken. I look at my dog and he seems fine. That’s when I notice that his mouth is covered in blood. I look down and my shirt and jeans are covered in blood. In fact, there’s blood all over the ground. What the heck? With only one possibility remaining, I turn to that guy and ask, “How do I look?”
“Not so good.”
**
A few days later, the two other people would explain to me what happened. I was the only one in with the dogs. I couldn’t get my dog’s collar off but at some point in the struggle, our heads collided. The soft flesh around my mouth yielded to his sharp teeth and blood started spewing everywhere. I suspect that once I started spewing, my body was shot through with adrenaline, which made it so much easier for me to remove the collar. It was like the story about a woman lifting a car off her kid, but in miniature. In fact, the other guy, who I thought may have jumped in to pull out the other dog, says that he never got closer than 4 feet (but that even he got blood on him from that distance!).
**
Back in the ER, the doctor puts in the last stitch and says, “WOW! That came together quite nicely!” He calls over the nurse practitioner who agrees, “Wow! That looks really clean. Well done.” “Don’t act so surprised,” I said, “You’re making me nervous.” Honestly, the last thing you want to hear is a doctor say, “Woohoo! I did it! I ACTUALLY did it. This is unbelievable. High Five!”
**
Back at the park, the lady with whom I had been sitting on the bench has returned from her car with a towel and a box of, what are basically, baby wipes. I took one wipe, put it to my face, told her that was all I needed and walked away. She insisted that I take the towel, but I didn’t think I needed it. After all, whatever was wrong with me hardly hurt. In fact, I didn’t even notice when it happened. It didn’t occur to me to think that all the blood on my clothes, the people around me, the two dogs, and the ground, all came from my face. I felt fine.
It wasn’t until I got home that I realized that the part of my mouth where my top lip hits my bottom lip was severed and that a chunk of my upper lip was completely missing. I looked around my mouth to see if maybe it was just misplaced, but it wasn’t. It was back at the dog park and I wasn’t going to find it anytime soon. I called my brother, who’s a doctor, and told him roughly what happened, sans details, and he said I had to go in for some shots, antibiotics, and stitches.
This is all pretty ridiculous, I thought to myself. What are the chances?
**
The wound is nearly completely healed now. The doctor really did a remarkable job. There’s hardly any scarring. And considering the train wreck that my mouth was in when I walked into the ER, I find it hard to believe that I won’t at least have a gnarly facial scar to show for this. I could have used one. Oh well. Maybe next time.
I’m fine. The pups are fine. And in the end, I guess I did get to play hero, although you wouldn’t know it by looking at my face! Sadly, I look exactly the same, not better, not worse, just the same. High Five!
posted by Donkey Boy at Sunday, July 02, 2006
2 Comments:
you are, without doubt, a person to whom things happen.
amazing.
glad you're ok!!
Wow. Well told, too. We actually learned in a plastic surgery class that you can lose up to a third of a lip and fix it with no problems.
Post a Comment
<< Home