This choice: After surgery and a lengthy recovery • Go Back...Chapter #8After surgery and a lengthy recovery by: Yote   It takes you about an hour to flay and deconstruct the underlying cartilage, muscle and bone of the face. The new tools you purchased for your clinic really speed up the process. Once it is all laid out before you, opened up like a flower made of meat, you feel your worries about operating on a family member finally ebb away.
This is just a patient like any other, you think. You set to work filing down the nose and cheekbones and jawline, chiseling out lumps of bone like a sculptor working a chunk of marble. If dad thought this could be so easily undone, he had another thing coming. It was easy to shave something down into something smaller and more delicate. It was far harder to build it up into something thick and masculine again. Ah well, at least you tried to explain it to him.
Roughly speaking, dad resembles Danny Devito. Short, squat and hairy. Not the ideal starting material for making a woman out of, you might think, but you'd be wrong. He was one of the few clients stumpy enough to make a "petite" woman out of, and his squatness was actually a positive, since his wide frame allowed you to construct some really nice, wide, childbearing hips. It was far easier to cinch the waist in on a wide man to make a nice hourglass shape, than it was to fashion broad hips out of a slender man.
You wonder how long dad truly planned to stay this way. From the way he talked during the consultation, you got the impression that he planned to return to manhood the moment the divorce proceedings are finalized. The surgeries you plan to do over the next 12 hours are thorough, invasive, and you estimate it will be at least 2 years before his body has healed enough for him to attempt masculinising surgery again.
You push your doubts aside once again, knowing full well that if you didn't do this work, dad would only have found somebody else who would. Somebody with a less talented hand than your own. Don't think about it. All that matters is that I do a good job, you think.
While you work elsewhere, Nathan spreads him in a thick, neon-orange paste, which soon fills the operating theatre with the unmistakable smell of burnt hair and melting epidermis as the caustic chemical melts away the top two layers of skin. After fifteen minutes, Nathan hoses him down, washing away the clumps of thinning, middle-age hair, wrinkly skin and misguided tattoos of his youth, which gurgles its way down the drain.
A vat of creamy, white, synthetic skin sits nearby. The last step will be to spray him down with a nice layer of that. That's a long time off yet however.
You break the mandible bone with a chisel and hammer, and are just about to reset it when the theatre doors swings open and the last person you ever expected walks in. It is the tall, thin, familiar form of your mother. Under one armpit is tucked an old VHS video camera and tripod. Under the other arm is a packed lunchbox and a thermos flask.
"Mom! What the hell are you doing here! Are you crazy? This is an operating theatre. How did you even get in here?!"
She all but ignores you, stepping across to the corner of the sterile theatre as nonchalantly as if she had just walked into your bedroom to collect your dirty laundry. She begins to casually extend the legs on the tripod. "Well it wasn't exactly difficult. This clinic of yours is all but deserted, you should really see about recruiting some more nurses. Oh, also the code for the keypad to the theatre was the same as your birthday." Noticing your frozen, aghast face, she gives you a wave with her hand to indicate that you should continue. "Oh, don't mind me. Just do what you usually do. I'll be over here, quiet as a mouse, you won't even notice me."
"This. is. a. sterile. environment."
She shoots you a sharp look. "Don't take that tone with me, young man, you know for a fact I'm very clean. Unlike a certain son I could mention who hasn't cleaned behind his ears since going to college."
Nathan titters at you, and you flush in embarrassment as your mother scolds you in front of your employee. You soften your voice, knowing that you've never won an argument with your parents, but hoping you might be able to reason with her. "Mom, what are you doing here? Don't you know I'm operating on dad right now? Right now I'm in the middle of a 12-hour procedure..."
"Why do you think I packed sandwiches," she says, a rare smile forming on her angular face. "There's not a chance I'd miss this - watching my philandering-soon-to-be-ex-husband getting his johnson removed. There isn't a divorced woman in the world who would kill for this sort of opportunity. So I'm not leaving. Not unless you want to drag your own mother kicking and screaming out of here. Or set your sissy nurse over there on me, although looking at him I doubt he's up to much."
Nathan ruffles and pouts at the insult. "Your mom is kinda scary, boss," he whispers.
You heave a weary sigh. Your hands are wrist-deep in viscera right now, and this is a delicate stage of the operation. Shaking your head, you say "just ignore her. Focus on the procedure. Let's just get this over with and then they're free to battle it out later."   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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