Friday - Went to see my endocrinologist, who doubles as my family medicine GP. He took a look at my left knee. He confirmed, by visual and touch, it seemed the knee "cap" bone was "not where it ought to be".
Doc Ben (Yes, his actual first name is Benjamin, just like me.)-- "I'll get you x-rayed. If we can do physical therapy and work it back, you'll see me again soon to set that up. If not, you'll get referred to an orthopedic surgeon."
Me -- "Okay, doc. Like I said, been this way years. I'm a masochist, so put off having it looked at. Go figure."
Doc Ben -- "Dumb fucker. You get pain like that again? You find us. We'll sort it out and help get rid of the pain. Now, what did I say, jackass?"
Me -- "Pain like that again, see you immediately."
Doc Ben -- *imitating spitting in his hand and extending it to shake mine* "Swear it! Dipshit."
Me -- *does likewise,* "I swear by our spit, Doc."
Doc Ben -- "That's twenty thousand for today, by the way. Break our swear, and I'll charge you a million. Now, scram!"
And yes, he talks to me like this, exactly. He is a very young looking twenty-something fellow, very slight build, coal-black floppy hair. He assures older patients, "Yes, I graduated twelve years of medical school. I'm a child prodigy, only child. I know my shit, you'll not play tricks on me."
*cue Jeopardy music*
Ten minutes later, on the bus, his secretary calls.
"Custodian Ben?"
"Roger, go ahead."
"Hate to bear bad news, but the x-rays show the cap is out. It's too far out to work in and there's a lot of it ate away from arthritis. Got a preference on orthopedic surgeons?"
"No mam, y'all pick me the best, I'm sure."
"Alright, sir. I'll get the details sorted and put it up on "your chart"."
"Roger, Wilco. Thank ya hon."
"Alright, have a good one, sugar."
They aren't foolin' 'round, means it is rough. I'm just staying "on the surface" I don't want to think too much on it. Let the docs do their job.
"Gentlemen, We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability, ..."
I'll be up and back to workin' better soon. My boss man J--- ,
tells me the sooner I get "fixed" up, the better I can leap over twelve to fifteen years.
Feels weird having folks that actually give a shit, where you work. I must have been doped/knocked out and dragged off to Stepford CT. *nodding, looking around for household chemicals, edged tools*
Moral of the story? You never know where you'll meet yourself doing this or that job. Swear, I keep running into me all the time. A doctor, a crane operator, a mechanic, a truck driver, a burger joint guy and on, and on, … . Eventually, the IRS will itemize and consolidate all my paychecks. Until then, I'll go respawn another 250 of me. Ha!