Oppenheimer Plastic Surgery

When I was 5 years old, I got my first bike without training wheels. Sticking my tongue out to concentrate (a habit I still can’t shake) I wobbled, desperately trying to steady myself. As I got around my first curve, the wheels skidded out and I fell–chin first–on the pavement. My tongue was bit almost in half: through-and-through; hanging on “by a thread.” Lots of blood (I hate the sight of blood!) and a frantic rush to find my grandfather ensued: he was, of course, a board certified plastic and reconstructive surgeon.