I mentioned a couple of days ago that my brother, Chewy, was on the business end of a scalpel on account o’ they had to shorten his jaw.
His surgery is now seven days old and he is remarkably cheery** given that they CUT THROUGH HIS BONE AND SUBTRACTED SOME OF IT. In fact, he was going to take his young son to a football game on Saturday, but he wasn’t quite ready for that kind of emotional let-down. He sent ME instead.
**Footnote: When I say he is remarkably cheery, I mean that he says phrases like, “Look away; I’m hideous,” and “Do I look like a Troll?” I want to say back to him phrases like, “Why the long face,” and “You’re not just whistling ‘Dixie’,” but I am a colossal pansy (as I believe I have referenced in the past) and I don’t want to anger him.
So, my brother Chewy’s jaw was too long. Apparently that was giving him problems that are pretty serious and eventually they were going to have to amputate. Unless! Unless they got to cut his face open and take out a portion of his jaw. You would think they would just cut through it with a bone saw and paste the ends back together, but it was a little more complicated.
Now, having a jaw that is too long is not like other common maladies. I mean, if your intestines are too long, they can cut some out and you can use the excess to make sausage. Similarly if your spine is too long, you have a tail, and they can cut that off quite easily. Long kneecaps double as shin guards.
A long jaw is different. To shorten your jaw, they use a drill and saw to cut in a zig-zag pattern so they can take length off and then slide the bone together in a way that the bone has plenty contact with the other piece of bone. It’s stronger that way. Then they run a couple of screws through the overlap. It’s really quite fascinating. Unfortunately, now my brother has his jaws sealed shut while the bones fuse back together. I hope he does well. I know he is very self conscious about his speech now that he can’t move his jaw.
I wonder what our fore-fathers did with all their long jaws. I know I had braces and retainers and headgear for six aggravating years, which will probably ensure that I don’t have to have my jaw cut, but what did our forefathers do? Maybe they just had to be tough—what with all the absurd language they used back then—Forsooth! (or ‘Forshoosh as it were.)
Anyway, that’s why I call my brother Chewy—because they installed some bionic chompers while they were in there. I bet He’ll be able to bite through his chains in no time. In fact, I bet he’ll be president one day. Or not.
Probably not.
Good luck, Chewy.