Bedside Manner

A woman sits in the exam room, surrounded by plastic models of various joints. She has been waiting a very long time. So long, in fact, that she finishes her book and sets it aside. She thinks about casting it aside or maybe rending it asunder. But she is waiting alone and what's the point of protesting to no one? Damaging the book does not concern her because it was not a good book anyway. Cheaply bound. Cheaply written. It read like a synopsis of an ill-conceived screen play.

Looking around at the medical models she contemplates rearranging all of the pink ligaments. Or maybe disassembling the whole lot and chucking the pieces down the long hallway, one at a time, until someone remembers they stuck her back in this corner.

Wasn't there a light board just outside of her room for x-rays? She could flick in on and off, signaling her distress in a series of dots and dashes.

But she does none of this. Not because the door opened just then. But because that is what she does. The right thing. The patient thing. Plotting little rebellions that will never materialize. So she settles in to wait and that is when the door opens.

The tall Orthopedic Surgeon steps in. Why yes, he is charming and tall. Thanks for asking. He reaches for her hand and apologizes for the wait.

"Oh, that's ok," she says, "I had a book." She points at the small paperback on the chair next to her. The odd thing is she kind of means it. Her mild frustration already forgotten.

"You would not have believed the break I had to put back together this morning. Drunk driver. So, how's your ass?" he says casually.

"It is fantastic. Really," she replies.

"Hop up here and let's check it out," he offers while patting the exam table.

SCREEEEEECHING HALT!

I am going to skip to the end of the story here. Because the point is that the cortisone injections have really helped my pain. More than I would have thought possible in just a week. And also, I am not exactly comfortable with the fact that the beginning of my appointment today reads like the part of a porn flick that gets fast-forwarded. To maintain both of our reputations in your eyes, I really was there about my ass. You can call it by the list of muscles it contains. Or you can call it SI Dysfunction. But it all comes down to my ass in the end. (Ba Dum Ching!)