Long story short, my jaw was broken last year at a beach party. For reference purposes, I will include a reconstructed log of the whole ordeal:

Friday, Week one, 8 P.M.
Mr. Fist meets Mr. Jaw. "Ow," says Phil.

Friday, Week one, 8:10 P.M.
Swelling begins, and the pressure-pain is replaced by a pulse-like throb. No one is in the mental state to drive to a hospital, besides - there is no sign of a break, merely a bad swelling. I can still talk, but am unable to open my mouth very much due to pain.

Friday, Week one, 9:00 P.M.
Pain has not yet subsided, I smoke a bowl with a friend to keep my mind off of the swelling, ice packs are changed every five minutes. Eventually I fall asleep.

Saturday, Week one, 3:00 A.M.
I wake up feeling what is close to the worst pain I have ever felt. The marijuana has worn off and I stumble into the Beach house's living room, hanging over the sink, feeling like throwing up from pain. The pain subsides again, and I sleep for a few hours.

Saturday, Week one, 8:00 A.M.
The pain has become tolerable as long as I keep my mouth shut. Everyone is going into the water and I join them, we agree to leave the beach at ten. Soon after, I find out that the water is cold enough to make my teeth clap. More Pain ensues and we drive back to Mobile. I stop by my workplace and communicate that I can't come in today, my manager is the first to expose the possibility of it being broken.

Saturday, Week one, 1:00 P.M.
I stop by our family doctor, and it doesn't take him long to diagnose the breakage. Surgery is scheduled for Monday at noon.

Sunday, Week one
I realize that I have gotten a cold over the weekend. Surgery is put off until Tuesday.

Tuesday, Week one
I go under for jaw surgery, briefly awaking to see a group of doctors and nurses above me. Then I'm out again. The next time I'm awake I have a straw coming out of my nose and my mouth is wired shut. I sleep for the rest of the day.

From then on I had weekly friday visits to a plastic surgeon from hell. Using pliers, he restrung my jaw and tore up my gums, giving me "the look" if I at all protested. My diet was restricted to soup and smoothies, after a while I could open my jaw wide enough to slip in some french fries.

Friday, Week six
Finally, the wires are coming off. The plastic surgeon from hell gives me five shots and pulls out the five inch root wires which had been sunken into my gums during surgery. On three of the wires, I feel nothing but pressure and liquid filling my mouth. The fourth, however, was somehow excluded from the shots and I feel what hell might feel like as five infinitely long inches of wire unravel from inside my gums and are pulled out. Blood runs over as I try to follow the psfh's motions. Finally, I can talk again.

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