Good News
Friday, April 6, 2007
Saw my podiatrist, Dr. Thomajan, yesterday.
I had really had some caffeine so I did my best Robin Williams impersonation and spoke with all the manic energy I had. I met Dr. Thomajan's lovely wife Wendy, whom I'd actually already met in a previous office visit and somehow failed to take in the fact that she is seven months pregnant. (And this was BEFORE pain killers.) At any rate, we probably would have to hate her because she's seven months pregnant and really, really cute (that pisses me off so much) AND she's smart and down-to-Earth, but it turns out that she's also funny. I am such a sucker for funny.
While in Thomajan's office, waiting and knitting, I heard a patient in the room next to me trying to explain to the good doctor why his (the patient's) cast was wet and stinky. I heard Dr. Thomajan very good-naturedly try to get to the bottom of the story, which the guy just didn't want to divulge. "Dude," said he. "It would NOT stay out of the lake."
(I might have added the, "Dude." But trust me, if it wasn't said, it was implied and totally in character.)
And then I heard the doctor take a phone call from someone calling to badger him because his primary physician hadn't authorized the referral to Dr. Thomajanand therefore the phone person didn't want to have to pay but DID want to bring his son back. (Lest you think that I was standing there with a glass to the wall, remember that I am on crutches. But I am incurable nosy--er--interested in the conversations that go on around me, having been closed up in my house for ten freaking days after the surgery, and plus, it's an occupational hazard. I could just hear everything in the office for some reason, and I was quite capable of filling in the gaps. I don't remember that from my other visits, but then again, I wasn't knitting. Knitting imparts some superpowers, I think.) Anyway, after three million examples of patience and diplomacy, finally, I heard, "If your primary care physician will not authorize a referral to me, then I will take a loss on our first appointment. But the most important thing here is the health of your son. So, regardless of if your son comes back to me or sees another specialist, he just needs to be seen."
I love my doctor.
I love him even more after he showed me the latest x-rays and I saw what looks like a normal foot. AND, when he told me that there is a possibility that I might be in a walking boot in two weeks! It was supposed to take six-to-nine weeks.
If I thought I had to be on crutches for another four to seven weeks, I might just end it all now. The thing about crutches is that you can't CARRY ANYTHING. So, if, say, a person wanted to pour herself a beverage, say a beverage made of fermented grape juice, she would have to pour it into a plastic cup and grip it in her teeth as she used her crutches to get to a chair, hoping fervently that she hadn't poured so much that it sloshed up her nose. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
In celebration of this great news, I promptly fell down in the good doctor's parking lot. I didn't hurt my bandaged foot but fell on my well-padded rear and my hands. (I so wanted to write "ass-over-teakettle" because this is my BLOG and I can use the occasional curse word that I would never use in my regular column (So, the thing is...) but it just isn't accurate. I really just fell "ass-on-concrete" which just isn't nearly so picturesque.)
It was indicative of the glamour of being on crutches and how off-balance I am at any given time, though. More about all that later. We're going to the beach!
Saw my podiatrist, Dr. Thomajan, yesterday.
I had really had some caffeine so I did my best Robin Williams impersonation and spoke with all the manic energy I had. I met Dr. Thomajan's lovely wife Wendy, whom I'd actually already met in a previous office visit and somehow failed to take in the fact that she is seven months pregnant. (And this was BEFORE pain killers.) At any rate, we probably would have to hate her because she's seven months pregnant and really, really cute (that pisses me off so much) AND she's smart and down-to-Earth, but it turns out that she's also funny. I am such a sucker for funny.
While in Thomajan's office, waiting and knitting, I heard a patient in the room next to me trying to explain to the good doctor why his (the patient's) cast was wet and stinky. I heard Dr. Thomajan very good-naturedly try to get to the bottom of the story, which the guy just didn't want to divulge. "Dude," said he. "It would NOT stay out of the lake."
(I might have added the, "Dude." But trust me, if it wasn't said, it was implied and totally in character.)
And then I heard the doctor take a phone call from someone calling to badger him because his primary physician hadn't authorized the referral to Dr. Thomajanand therefore the phone person didn't want to have to pay but DID want to bring his son back. (Lest you think that I was standing there with a glass to the wall, remember that I am on crutches. But I am incurable nosy--er--interested in the conversations that go on around me, having been closed up in my house for ten freaking days after the surgery, and plus, it's an occupational hazard. I could just hear everything in the office for some reason, and I was quite capable of filling in the gaps. I don't remember that from my other visits, but then again, I wasn't knitting. Knitting imparts some superpowers, I think.) Anyway, after three million examples of patience and diplomacy, finally, I heard, "If your primary care physician will not authorize a referral to me, then I will take a loss on our first appointment. But the most important thing here is the health of your son. So, regardless of if your son comes back to me or sees another specialist, he just needs to be seen."
I love my doctor.
I love him even more after he showed me the latest x-rays and I saw what looks like a normal foot. AND, when he told me that there is a possibility that I might be in a walking boot in two weeks! It was supposed to take six-to-nine weeks.
If I thought I had to be on crutches for another four to seven weeks, I might just end it all now. The thing about crutches is that you can't CARRY ANYTHING. So, if, say, a person wanted to pour herself a beverage, say a beverage made of fermented grape juice, she would have to pour it into a plastic cup and grip it in her teeth as she used her crutches to get to a chair, hoping fervently that she hadn't poured so much that it sloshed up her nose. Hypothetically speaking, of course.
In celebration of this great news, I promptly fell down in the good doctor's parking lot. I didn't hurt my bandaged foot but fell on my well-padded rear and my hands. (I so wanted to write "ass-over-teakettle" because this is my BLOG and I can use the occasional curse word that I would never use in my regular column (So, the thing is...) but it just isn't accurate. I really just fell "ass-on-concrete" which just isn't nearly so picturesque.)
It was indicative of the glamour of being on crutches and how off-balance I am at any given time, though. More about all that later. We're going to the beach!
Comments
Glad to have rediscovered you and your writing, Barb. It's been too, too long.
Love,
Trish