My ortho guy (because I have an ortho guy) has office walls bedecked with signed jerseys. Marshall Faulk is on the wall. Wayne Gretzky is on the wall. Even Kris Humphries is on the wall. I might not recognize all of the names on the shadow-boxed jerseys, but I *am* pretty sure that none of them represent slightly overweight housewives in their 40s. (Oh, man. Did you see that? It was not my intention to get all crankypants in Sentence Five. I was going to wait until at LEAST Sentence Eleven.)
This morning I went to see the ortho guy so we could figure out if I still need the boot on my left foot. I signed in at 9:00. My appointment was at 9:15. I was taken back to an examination room at 9:45. The doctor came in at 10:08.
Doctor: So, what’s going on?
Me: Well, I want to mention just a few things before we figure out if I need the boot any longer. First, blah, blah, blah, my insurance won’t cover a bone density test because the code isn’t covered under the correct umbrella.
Doctor: That’s just silly. Blah, blah, blah, this code, this code, or this code.
Me: Excellent. And another thing, I had blood taken to check my Vitamin D levels, and I’m low, so I’m now taking 50,000 units once a week for a month, and then I’ll go to 2,000 units daily until I die. Parentheses I didn’t know if you cared about that or not End Parentheses. Suddenly, rickets isn’t as funny as it was in elementary school.
Doctor: Okay. Let’s get a look at the leg.
Me: Ouch. Quit it. Ouch. Quit it. Ouch. Quit it. And while you’re poking me, I was wondering how my right leg x-ray looked, because I’m starting to get that weird shooting pain over there, and I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m walking crooked with the boot or not.
Doctor: Let me go out and take a look at the x-ray.
At this point, the doctor left the room, closed the door behind him, and was immediately approached by a wild and crazy and loud-talking colleague.
Colleague: Hey! What are you doing the weekend of March 15th?
Doctor (who was supposedly checking my x-rays and checking my x-rays): I don’t know! Why?
Colleague: Because I’m scheduling a mid-life crisis! We’re going down to Fort Lauderdale! I don’t have anything planned yet. Right now we’re just trying to figure out if we’re taking the spouses or not.
Doctor (still checking my x-rays, I presume): Well, I can answer that for you! Not!!! HA HA HA HA!!!!
Colleague: I’m with you, Bro!
They continued to talk (and possibly high five and/or kiss) for nearly ten minutes. And I thought that was funny because at this point the doctor had spent no more than five minutes talking to me and ten minutes talking to and/or making out with his friend. (I really can’t blame him. I would have much rather been chatting it up with one of my friends than touching the leg of someone who had no intention of offering up some rad game tickets and/or an awesome shot at Spring Break infidelity.) I finished a chapter in my book just in time for him to walk back into the room.
Doctor: No fracture in the right leg. I’m concerned about your left knee, though. Keep wearing the boot for two more weeks, and I’m going to send you downstairs for an MRI. If there’s no fracture, we’ll talk about platelet injections in both your ankle and your knee. I’ll call you and schedule it after I look at the MRI.
He then started to leave the room.
Me: Oh! Wait. While we’re talking about scheduling, who do *I* call to schedule *MY* mid-life crisis?
(Yes! I said that! I rarely have such a short lag time between Leaving the Scene and What I Should Have Said, so I went with it!)
Doctor (appearing a bit embarrassed): Ha! Erm. Yeah! Go ahead and schedule that. I hear Europe is nice this time of year!
Me: Actually, I hear DITCHING the SPOUSE and heading to FORT LAUDERDALE is also pretty tempting! Am I RIGHT?!
Doctor: Nervous laughter. Nervous, nervous laughter. I’ll take a look at the MRI and will call you in a few days.
I left the office feeling Parker Poseyesque plus a little humiliated plus a little rushed, because I had less than an hour to grab a Vanity Fair before my MRI.
The Parker Poseyness has worn off. I’m still feeling slightly humiliated (I’m not sure why), but that’s nothing that bean tostadas can’t fix. Also, I mostly recommend the latest Vanity Fair.