If I could perform complicated surgeries with a toothpick, my phone would never stop ringing.
Most calls, of course, would come from International locations like Burma and Greenland and Taiwan and Indonesia — where people are open minded about tricky, questionable, almost magical-like surgical techniques like mine and are more than happy to become guinea pigs if it means free gauze and syringes. But as quickly as they would call, the lists of patients would overwhelm…because when the media and journalists of the world saw what amazing things I could do with a toothpick…
…well, I’d be the King of the (Medical) World.
Just how I’d ever come up with the idea of performing complicated surgeries with a toothpick would be a story I would always tell patients right before I put them under (with my unique anesthesia cocktail of crushed Tums and Cactus Cooler). I would recall the one moment that changed everything.
There I was, one fine evening, eating my weight in sushi from one of those over-priced wooden sushi boats that they bring to your table to embarrass you. It was when I finished what was on my plate that I noticed that a particularly sandpaper-like piece of seaweed had gotten stuck inbetween my fifth and sixth bicuspid. Looking to solve the problem on my own (as I often do since I’m such a go-getter), I would retrieve a simple looking wooden toothpick (no mint scent at all) and go to excavating the seaweed from my pearly whites. It was at that moment that something terrifying and wondrous happened…
With one mis-pick, I would stab my gums and poke out a tumorous cyst in the roof of my mouth.
My physicians, you can imagine, were stunned. A tumorous cyst that no one had noticed in the past had been slowly gearing up to grow deep into my brain. Had the slip of my hands not occured, and the sharp end of the toothpick not poked out the gummy invader, I would probably not have made it out alive. But it did. And I did.
And right about that point in the story, thanks to the triple-dosage of Tums…you’d be out.
Over the years I would have perfected my run-and-gun surgical techniques. At first, some of the early surgeries would have had complications. Splinters got pushed deeper into patient’s arms. A significant amount of scar tissue would be aggrivated by my poke-and-prod style. There would even be the time that a triple-heart bypass would have to be abandoned when my toothpick got sucked into the left ventricle.
But I would press on.
Before long, the mysterious and mind-numbing toothpick surgery technique would be perfected. The list of surgeries would run the gamut — from lobotomies to vasectomies, from undoing gastric bypass to taking part in casual acupuncture…the toothpick would do it all.
And I would do it all…for free.
People would often ask me why I’d ignore the great possibilities of becoming a millionaire and just do the surgeries for free. They’d often ask why I’d develop such a groundbreaking new kind of surgery with an impressive new tool and not look to patent it with the appropriate organizations. Patients, after undergoing yet another successful toothpick surgery would grasp my hand with their sweaty digits and say, “Doctor Toothpick — you are my new God.”
Yes. I’d be called Dr. Toothpick.
If you came to me and were having trouble breathing…I’d take my beloved medical instrument and poke a hole in your throat. Problem solved. If you visited Dr. T with a gallbladder problem, I could quickly make three pokes into your stomach area and remove the guilty organ. Thinking about that gender-conversion surgery?
Yes. I’ll do. And it’ll be free.
If I could perform complicated surgeries with a toothpick, and the Board of Medical whatstheirnames allowed me to nominate myself for those Award Ceremony thingamajigs then someday I’d find myself standing up at that podium receiving no less than an oversized golden toothpick — awarding me for my sharp thinking, distaste for the almighty dollar and philanthropic surgical side.
It would be the culmination of a career of groundbreaking medical surgeries using the same piece of wood you use to pick out that piece of corn from your teeth.