Landfall - 15. Dave is DIC

Dave wasn't lying yesterday when he said he'd start taking charge.

After we'd both gotten over the shock of revealing our feelings to each other, we had a relaxing day, cuddled together on the bed or in the loveseat in the room, just touching and holding each other. Stealing occasional kisses, and trying to dodge the bruises as we manhandled each other. Only interrupted by the nurse checking on us both occasionally, logging temp and blood pressure.

Got dressed, joined Jonathan and Greg in their room for dinner. They'd bribed the nurse to get takeout from O'Calla's just down the street. Some of the best Mexican food in the city, and it really hit the spot.

After dinner, we relaxed with a drink. Greg commented on how good we looked together.

“Yeah, it feels right, Greg. Not knowing if I'd lost him after the ambush in the Plaza, I finally realized how I felt about him—and I'm working to not lose him ever again.” Dave's declaration is the first he's publicly set us up as a couple. And yeah, I like it—a lot.

“Great! Hope it works out for both of you...and if we can help, we will. Hope we can all be friends when all this is done.” Jonathan is grinning as he says it, but he's totally sincere about the statement. Our first friends as a couple.

Dinner done, back to the room around 10 or so. “You've got a full day tomorrow, Barry, and I'll go over it all with ya tomorrow morning. Let's hit the sack.” Dave is already stripping and is naked in moments, crawling between the sheets, patting the bed beside him. I'm naked and next to him in a flash. Despite the fact we're still sore as hell and bodies are stiff, we meld into each other.

Some great kisses, I'm curled on his shoulder, and sleep hits us both.

Over breakfast, Dave fills me in on the day he's set up for me.

“First, you're meeting with a plastic surgeon at 9:30, so you've got another hour to get cleaned up and ready for her here. You'd set that up as phase 2 of the plan, so we're going to get rolling on that. Then lunch. Then at 1:30, you're meeting with a psychiatrist. He's a guy we keep on retainer here for all of us, you'll like him, and you'll get a couple of hours with him. After that, you're clear for the day. Maybe hit the pool later this afternoon if you'd like. Whatever you want, I'm giving you that time.” He grins as I call him “my favorite 'DIC' (Dave In Charge)”. He just laughs.

Dr. Sherry Graham appeared right on time, carrying both a briefcase and a laptop in it's own case. Striking woman, tall, lean, dark shoulder-length hair, seemingly golden eyes, porcelain skin. She sticks out her hand and introduces herself to me and Dave.

Dave's about to excuse himself after the introductions are done, but I stop him.

“This is going to change the way I look, Dave. I want you here for both input and approval. It's important to me, Ok?” He smiles, has a little blush going on, then sits down on the side of the breakfast table in the room, pulling his chair up close to mine.

Dr. Graham opens the laptop, powers it up, and starts filling me in on her background, and then talking about what she'd envisioned, based on the pictures she'd seen of me.

“First, you need to know, Mr. Evans, I'm one of the best in my field. I graduated in the top of my class; I'm Board Certified, which means I've got the training and experience that not all reconstructive surgeons have; and I'm fully accredited at Baylor, Parkland, and other area hospitals for full surgical privileges. Trust me, I know what I'm doing, and you can count on the fact I'm going to be taking good care of you. You aren't going to end up like Frankenstein.” She smiles. The woman is both intelligent and confident plus has a sense of humor. Good.

“The changes I've got in mind for you aren't nearly as invasive or extensive as you might think, Mr. Evans. They're fast healing, and you'll be active again before you know it.” She smiles. “Now, before I go into more detail, let me get a few pictures of you. Would you please stand against that wall over there?”

She takes several pictures; one face forward, one with my head turned on each side at a 45 degree angle away from her, and a final picture with a full profile view of my face. Connecting a cable, she uploads the pics from her Galaxie phone directly to her laptop, and in a few seconds, has split screen images of me displayed.

“The first thing we're going to do, Mr. Evans, is a chin implant.” She's reaching into her briefcase and pulls out a plastic thing that looks like a chin guard on my old football helmets, but softer, pretty flexible, and milky-looking. It also has long tapering sides. “This silicone implant is attached directly to your chin. Because of it's shape, the line of the implant will blend into your existing jaw line. It'll look totally natural. We'll make a small incision under your chin, we install the implant, you'll have three or four stitches, and if anyone asks, you fell as a kid. The scar will be that small.”

She puts the implant in her hand against my chin, does a soft “hmm”, goes back and gets another one, slightly smaller, and blockier from the briefcase. Puts it against my chin, and says, “this is it”. She turns, and enters the code on the side of the implant into the laptop.

“Now, the next part sounds scarier than it is. We'll do cheek implants that will raise your cheekbones slightly. There are two ways that can be done, one is through the mouth into the cheek. The other way, which I recommend, is by creating a small incision in the lower eyelid, just below the lashes. The surgical scar will be virtually invisible after the surgery, and uses both adhesives and micro stitches during healing. The implants are also attached directly to your existing bone structure, and after some relatively minor bruising, are as natural as those you currently have. There's less chance of infection by going through the lids, and, surprisingly, less pain.”

“There are injectable substances that we could use, but those have to be redone every year and a half or so. And, despite the fact they're FDA approved, I'm more comfortable with the long-term results with the traditional implants.”

More looking through the briefcase, and she pulls out two more almost triangular implants. Holds 'em up against my face and checks 'em out. Another set comes out and after checking them against the face, a small nod.

The numbers on the last set of implants are entered, and she hits the “enter” key.

“Give this a minute, it'll calculate the implants effects on your face, and show you what you'll look like after it's done.” By the time she finishes speaking, the laptop beeps. “Let's see what you think about the revised you.” She spins the laptop around.

Damn! For just a few little pieces of silicone, the effect is dramatic. Longer jaw line, squarer chin but not cartoonishly so, complete with a dimple in the middle, almost American Indian looking cheekbones making my face look longer and the hollow between my cheek and jaw is more pronounced. Because of the implants the skin is stretched a little, so I look a little younger. It kinda looks like me, but yet, not really. The effects are subtle, but overall, you'd really hafta look closely to recognize Frank from the new Barry.

“Wow! It looks great! Looks like your younger brother!” Dave is obviously impressed.

“That's the goal of any cosmetic surgery; we want you to look more relaxed, like you've had a long vacation, and only have a minor impact on your appearance. In this case, the goal is an appearance change, but we want it to look natural and not an obvious modification.”

“We can go in and also modify your nose, but, quite frankly, I don't think that's necessary. These changes will be fast and easy to implement, and you'll recover quickly. We can do the surgery tomorrow, you'll be back at home tomorrow evening, and by Friday, you can travel. I'm understanding the Bureau has travel plans for you, correct?” I just nod at the doctors comments, assuming we're on track to go back to Florida.

“You'll have a couple of days of stronger pain medications and then after that simply Tylenol or Advil, and then only when you need them.”

“By a week from Friday, the stitches can come out. While the stitches are in place, you'll be able to resume almost all your normal activities, with the exception of swimming in a pool or soaking in a hot tub—there's too much chance for a secondary infection from those. Bruising and swelling will last for a couple of weeks, and your face will feel a little stiff, but after that, you're back to full normal day-to-day life.”

“Now, any questions?” The doc is patiently waiting, but I'm not coming up with anything. I just shake my head “no”.

“Ok, we'll be doing this in my office. The Bureau will have you there at 9:00 tomorrow morning. You'll be back here by noon.”

“Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow morning.” We shake hands, and she quickly packs everything up and is out the door.

“Ok, Dave, you really think this is gonna look ok?” Hoping he wasn't just being nice while the doc was here.

He figured out what I was really asking. It's going to be great, Barry....but I still see the man I care about.”

All I needed to hear.

“But, when you talk with Doc this afternoon, you also need to talk about your face's changes. See this scar?” Dave points to a line just below his right jawline. “That's where I got cut by a glass fragment during a drug raid years ago. For month's it bothered me; everytime I'd look in the mirror shaving, that's really all I'd see. Got to the point I felt self-conscious about the original scar, stayed quieter and kept to myself. Finally talked with a doc, had minor repairs done to minimize the scar...and here I am now, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky.” He laughs.

The whole point, Barry, is that you're gonna see a different face when ya shave every day, so deal with it up front. Doc will help ya walk through it all, so it's not going to bother ya. Mention it to him, ok?” I nod.

Coded knock at the door. Dave pre-ordered lunch from room service at some point, so had hot roast beef sandwiches with fries and iced tea delivered. Hit the spot, and figured I'd need the energy to deal with my afternoon appointment with Doc.

Brushed my teeth, Dave grabbed me, kissed me hard. “I'm going to head out, get lost for a few hours—I don't need to be here for this next appointment. This is your time, so relax, talk as much as you want, take all the time you need. You may be surprised at how much talking things through helps.”

Coded knock at the door. Dave welcomes Doc in.

“Hi, Mr. Evans. I'm Brian Schmitt; everyone calls me “Doc”. Good to meet you—I'm looking forward to getting to know you.” Relaxed, friendly guy, maybe mid-50's, trim build, maybe 5'8” or so, salt and pepper hair, easy smile. “May I call you Barry?”

“Sure. And up front, I've never done any of this before, so bear with me.”

“Barry, it's not an issue. I'm here to be a sounding board for you. I don't need to give advice; most folks already have the answers they need, floating around in their head. They just need to cut past the mental clutter to get to it...and talking out loud about it all helps do that. So we'll talk, and see where it goes from there.” All that delivered in the same tone any other guy would use as if talking about his car, or the ball game on Sunday.

At this point, Dave excuses himself, says goodbye to Doc, and heads out to God-knows-where. “I'll be back around 4:30 or so, so take all the time ya need, Barry. And, Doc, good to see ya again.” And he's out the door for the rest of whatever he's gonna do while I'm in here.”

“Ok, Barry, let's get started. How about sitting here at the table, we can keep our Cokes here,” as he pulls a soft drink from his messenger bag. My tea is still there from lunch.

During the next few hours we talk, moving from table to loveseat, back to table, occasionally stretching my legs walking around the room. Doc was easy to talk with, not distracting from the conversation by taking notes but focusing on me, asking questions occasionally, keeping the chat going.

He was right—just talking about everything that I'd quashed into it's own little box in my head was remarkably freeing. I felt good about everything, even if emotionally drained; it was an intense session, covering lots of topics. From my new face to Jackie's death, to the mixed feelings about the boys, to my fears about starting a new life, to my feelings about Dave; hell, I threw it all out there, and Doc just sat unfazed by it all.

And yeah, it helped—a lot. Hadn't realized how much I was carrying around. Hadn't realized how much I needed to deal with—I'd put it off, and just talking about it all made a difference; made me realize how much further I needed to go to get some of this shit settled in my head.

Doc stood up, stretched, and smiled. “Good work here, Barry. You've done well here, and you've done a remarkable job of handling all of this. I'll be available anytime you want when you're here in Dallas. And, may pull off a trip to Florida in a week or so.” He winked—he's obviously been briefed.

“Take some time, think through the stuff we talked about. But, let me ask—are you staying anxious? Having problems sleeping?”

I shook my head. “Never a problem sleeping—there's been too much going on. And really haven't been anxious. So if you're asking do I need drugs, I'm gonna say no.”

“That matches my assessment, Barry, but wanted to give you the option, if nothing else for a temporary comfort level. I don't believe in long-term drug therapy, but it can be helpful for short-term use if needed. And like I said, I think you're doing fine.”

Knock on the door, and it's Dave. It's4:30? We've been here for three hours? Damn, no wonder I'm exhausted. Covered a lot of territory.

Doc chats with Dave for a couple of minutes. They obviously know each other from other times. “Ok, guys, I have another commitment. I'll leave it with ya—but Barry, understand I'm as near as a phone if you need me.” And he hands me a card with his cell number written on the back, shakes hands with both of us, grabs his bag, and leaves.

“You ok, Barry?” Dave grabs me in a hug. “You been at it all this time with him?”

“Yup, I'm fine. Just a little tired. But it's all good. And I'm feeling better about everything. No worries about me, ok?” I smile, just to let him know he doesn't hafta worry about another meltdown like I had two nights ago.

“Barry, I'll always worry about you...but glad you're doing good. Now, let's head down, relax by the pool. Plenty of sun still out. We'll think about dinner later. So get your trunks, and let's go.” He starts peeling off his shirt as he speaks, and yeah, he's still hot as hell. Guess my session with the Doc only makes me understand it's ok to have and enjoy these feelings with him.

Got to the private pool maintained just for this exclusive part of the hotel, and Jonathan and Greg are already there, stretched out on loungers, margaritas in hand.

We made small talk, swam a little, had a round of drinks or two, enjoyed steaks delivered there.

It's getting dark, and Dave takes control again. “Guys, it's been good, but we need to head back to the room, and get ready for tomorrow. Barry has a big day ahead, and I wanna make sure he's relaxed and ready for it.”

“Yeah, he's my DIC.” When I explain that's just “Dave In Charge”, they both howl.

Jonathan smirks as he looks at Greg, then back at us. “Yeah, he looks a little tense, Dave....do what ya need to do.” And he grins and winks. His message was clear.

Everyone laughs. Buy why am I hoping he does help me “relax” and why am I wanting to make sure he's “relaxed”?