Skin Deep

41

She could barely believe it. Dr. Monks had called her that Sunday morning to see how she was doing. Perhaps it was standard patient care with him, but she could not help but feel flattered.

Just last week he was interviewed in Newsweek about breakthroughs in face transplants—how he and a team of other surgeons had used MRI imaging to distinguish bone from muscle so that computer programs could assist surgeons in eliminating a major technical and psychological concern—patients looking different from the way they did before disfigurement. The new techniques allowed them to determine the precise amount of underlying fat and muscle to remove from donor cadavers to transplant with blood vessels and skin. So far three overseas patients had undergone successful facial transplants. Likewise, new strategies to combat immunosuppression were proving successful enough to outweigh the risks.

The media had cited him as a world expert, yet on the phone he was the modest friendly man she had come to know. He was pleased to hear that the discomfort was less than she had anticipated. He reminded her to sit up and use a cold compress for the bruising. She said that she was doing all that, and he approved to her delight. “Good for you. I wish all my patients were like you.”

Then he told her to take Vicodin for discomfort. Also no heavy activities for a week, no driving, no exercises, and no sexual activities. The last words hummed in the open telephone line for an awkward moment, which she quickly filled with, “Of course not.” And she wondered at the force of her promise, hoping that he was hearing the pledge of a good patient and not the assurance that she was in complete estrangement from Steve yet available at a later date.

He went on to remind her that if she went out she should wear sunglasses to protect her skin and to hide the bruises that would peak in two days. Before he hung up, he said he would like to see her on Wednesday to remove the stitches.

She said, “Fine,” thinking how she could barely wait.