So—I went to the doc and basically: nothing! I was glad to degree but I was also left scratching my head. ‘Does this guy really know what he I talking about?’ He seemed pretty sure of him self. Turns out he knew me or least saw me when I worked at the old building at Department of Determination Services. It’s not like we knew each other but interesting. I sort of thought Docs who worked there worked there they could not work anywhere else. In fact in his own way this pinch hitter doc was basically the same as Jamie. So, either this clinic hires clones with a commitment to herding s many folks through as possible or I am wanting too much from my practioner. I rally did not want to but I may have to consider switching to a new doc. I may consider finding someone up at the University Med Center where they handle SCI like me on a somewhat more regular basis. In short the good doctor ordered P.T. just a I asked.. I would say something ,” Oh, yeah, I want P.T’ and then he would look at me and say( almost winking) “You got it” or just “Got it” Even when I changed my initial request for P.T. to include Range of motion for lower extremities. He looked at me very weird like ‘ that’s is sure dumb’ but then flipped back into his earlier modus operendi , “Got it”. The doc assured my bicep was still intact and anchored to the bone showing me what th muscle would look like if I has ripped the musculature free. I just wanted some relief from the pain. I could tell out little interview was over so I blurted out, “ How about a shot of cortisone? Would that help?” He glanced at me like I had just made him consider violating his oath and said, “That’s not only a no , but a big HELL no.” and he left. Boy, as I scratching my head then…so I am just going to continue taking it s easy as I can and get into P.T. as soon as possible to work on restoring some muscle—I guess I am basically OK.
I stopped at the Big Four on the corner thinking I had time to buy a pair of tennis shoes before I went to the Doc’s office. I had an hour and half surely ample time for shoe shopping. Boy, was I wrong. I always forget that I must have the fattest feet on earth and their crip feet at that. They, are having a huge End of the Year sale but just on shoes that no way in this life time will fit my feet. But I went through much of the exercise anyway. Poor Linda, waited on me she did her best with my crip feet, being the only soul in the shoe department as everyone on in Murray decided to look at shoes the same time. There were a couple I thought might work but I kept asking to see others options… Linda kept disappearing into the back and what seemed down to the basement and return with a arm load of shoe boxes. Try to thrust my spazzing feet inside but a no go. I finally told her I had to run to a medical appointment—I thought Linda was going to start crying. I even told her I would most likely return and we could do more shoes. But she knew I was not coming back. Linda smiled and sure “I’ll se you then” and I rolle out of the store in my socking feet
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