Page 6 of Tasty Tentacles

I try it…and say, “I see what you mean. That gets old really fast.”

He gives me a real smile at that, one that goes all the way to his eyes.

“So why are you here today?” I ask, unfortunately suspecting where this is going.

“I’d like to remove them, all of them, if that’s possible, but my regular doctor won’t touch them.”

I understand his doctor’s hesitation completely. It’s right there in the Hippocratic Oath—do no harm. I say, “I’m not surprised, because they’re so perfectly functional.”

“That’s almost exactly what she said, and she recommended I try a cosmetic surgeon. So, I’m here.”

My whole being rebels against this. Truly, they’re a miracle…but I’m here to help him, and frankly, I’m completely caught off guard and don’t quite know how to get back on my feet.

“Okay,” I improvise, “here’s how I think we should proceed. Let me do a closer examination today. I’ll need to understand the physiology of the tentacles—do you mind if I call them tentacles?”

“That’s fine,” he says, getting smaller in the chair.

“Do you prefer another term?” His comfort is paramount here, and he’s been living with them his entire life, so we should use his preferred terminology.

“No, that’s fine. They’ve been called a lot of things: deformities, aberrations, abominations. Mom used to call them my TenTens, but I don’t think that’s appropriate here. Let’s call them what they are.”

This stops me in my tracks. This man must have been subjected to so much crap in his life. It’s no wonder he’s considering radical solutions. At least it’s good to hear his mother took a gentle approach, and he’ll get the same from me. It’s time for me to focus on practical solutions and start mapping out potential treatment plans.

“I’ll need to understand the anatomy and physiology of the tentacle attachment, so I can safely remove them. Ideally, we’ll want to leave enough of your beard to cover the scarring. Our goal would be a similar facial profile, perhaps with a beard that’s less full.”

“That sounds great, Doctor.”

The prospect is daunting. Everything about this is new, so I’ll definitely need to do some reading. As I remember, there’s a literature on vestigial tails, and extensive work on reconstructions of all kinds. There must be something similar in the archives. But for today, I’ll need to limit myself to outlining the general parameters, to give myself some place to start.

“These larger ones on your chin. Are they the strongest?”

“Yes.”

“Can you grip my finger?”

“Easily.”

I palpitate one of the largest ones at the center, and he wraps the end around my forefinger.

“Please, as tightly as you can.”

He grips, about as strongly as I could do with my pinkie. Impressive. It’s muscled along the entire length. The dorsal surface is densely covered with hairs, but the ventral surface is fleshy, not moist but not completely dry, like the palm of the hand.

“Thank you. And these ones under your lips?”

“They’re not as strong.”

He again wraps my finger, and the grip is slightly weaker. The ventral surface is also hairless, and slightly oily. I shift the light and lean in close. It’s uniformly muscled, thicker at the proximal connection to his face and narrow at the distal end. The tip twitches constantly, tapping against my finger.

“Nori,” he says. “And wasabi.”

“I apologize,” I say. “I had sushi for lunch. Is my breath giving you problems?”

“No. I can taste it on your finger. And pickled ginger, and maybe some sugar. Did you have dessert?”

“Guilty as charged, although my waistline won’t thank you for noticing. This is remarkable. I washed my hands, but you can still sense that.”

He’s gone all shy at this. Maybe it’s a sensitive subject.