First you start with good jaw structure. Oh, my bad. That's not an option? Ok, . . . well then, cultivate it.
Yesterday was D-Day, and Owen (once known as Fat Biscuit) was fitted with his Rapid Palatal Expander. The first evening was not pretty. Not sure how much of a factor the sedatives were, but Owen's speech was horrific. Seriously, we could barely understand him. And he was suffering from a gag reflex: every several words or so, he would pause to lurch forward and nearly puke.
Now that several days have past, Owen is talking normally and has slowly started to eat like his old self again: crackers, cheese, yogurt, the occasional waffle. (So far, the food that gives him the most trouble are his mainstay veggie chicken nuggets: something about the chewy, meaty texture.)
I wish I had as little interest in food as he does.
Every evening, Owen and I go into the downstairs restroom, pull out the special pink plastic container that holds The Key, and move the hole on the expander one full notch. It's hard for Owen to keep his mouth wide enough for me to get my fingers in there; it's also hard for him to not gag. After every turn, we give each other high-fives.