I Should've Been a Doctor

I just got back from a visit with the Orthopedic Surgeon where it took me longer to fill out my forms than for him to diagnose me with tendonitis. He prescribed an anti-inflammatory medication, Mobic, to heal me, which I'm told neither makes me feel giddy OR drowsy. I also have to go to physical therapy three times a week for a few weeks to get ultrasound treatment. Cross your fingers that my therapist is a blond ex-sailor named Sven.

I tried to get serious with him and ask him questions, but he treated me like an idiot.

Me: So is it OK to walk the dog or walk on the treadmill?
Doc: Sure, as long as it doesn't hurt.

Me: What about icing it or using a compression sock?
Doc: You can do that, if it hurts.

Me: And do you think I need to come back?
Doc: Not necessarily. Only if it continues to hurt.

*Le sigh* I have to confess that I'm a little disappointed that it wasn't something more dramatic. I could use a little diversion in my life these days. Like maybe something that required surgery, or at the very least, left me with a hearty limp that required the use of a cane. I was hoping to be home-bound for a least month, where I could only use what little energy I had left to summon my "physical therapist" with a bell.

"Sven, honey, can you please fetch me some Nutter Butters and some cold milk? And a napkin. Do I feel like I have a fever? Maybe you should check my temperature. Not that way, silly. The REAL way!"