Those of you who know me, really know me, will understand the thundering impact of this statement: Today I went to the doctor.
For those of you who don't know me: I fucking hate doctors. Hate them hate them hate them. I hate doctors and I hate hospitals even worse.
Why? Doctors will only tell you bad news. Period. Your blood pressure is high. Your blood sugar is high. You're eleventy billion pounds overweight. Your dad was dead by the time he got here. It never ends with these people.
They're cold and detached and yes, I know that to an extent they have to be, because if they let themselves feel emotion about death they'd cease to be effective, but I don't have to fucking like it, and I don't.
Anyway I promised Tootsie that if by Monday I was still in pain from the fall I took, that I would head up to the urgent care facility. I was, so I did. And they took X-rays and poked me and prodded me. Someone purporting to be a doctor stuck two fingers in my ass. I did not let the fact that he was not wearing gloves, nor the fact that under his lab coat he was wearing a UPS uniform, stop me from enjoying myself.
Bottom line, I am the proud owner of two broken ribs, whom I've named Mary Kate and Ashley, both for their similarity to the alledgedly anorexic twins and to each other. I was given a four-day course of pain killers and told that I could expect pain of this nature for three weeks. I was not given ample time to ponder the wisdom of that sufficiently, else I would have pointed out the seeming disparity there.
Now I would like to send out a message to certain people, they know who they are, who suggested I get looked at by a doctor: There. You happy now? I saw a god damned doctor. In response to my question regarding treatment options for broken ribs, she actually used the expression "We don't do anything." So I almost killed myself getting out of a wet shower, endured pain getting into and out of my car to the tune of getting kicked in the ribs six fucking times, and disrobed in front of four total strangers (five, if you include the UPS guy, but really by that point, Spencer and I were not exactly strangers), only to be given a short supply of some limp-wristed painkillers and sent on my way. I'm never listening to you ever again!
Finally, one very profitable poker hand to share with you. It fucking kills me to say it, but I owe this one at least partially to Josie: I called a standard PF raise with J10 suited despite being in bad position, like UTG +2 I think. But the flop - oh, that magical flop - came A J 10 rainbow. I bet decent sized and quickly, to hopefully give the impression that I was just c-betting and that someone had an A. Two folds and an insta-call and I was heads-up. Turn blanks. Another quick bet, about 2/3 pot or close to it, and another quick call. River blanks and I'm only vulnerable to KQ, a few sets, or a freak aces up. Same old: quick bet, now around $30 or $40, and a snap call. And just this once, the poker gods saw fit to run this one exactly to plan, all praise and glory to the poker gods, ommmmmmm, and my two pair held up. And yet another player who put too much faith in top pair learns a sharp lesson. Or doesn't. And I'm like $80 up.
So there you go: Mary Kate, Ashley and I are going to relax on the couch. I'll try and update mid-trip.
Well, without going to the Doctor you would not have had a great finger bang nor would some people been able to say with 100% certainty that "THEY WERE FUCKING RIGHT"
ReplyDeleteI'm sad I only said cracked ribs and thus cannot be in on the fun - Whatever.
Good job on the poker hand, bad job on the ribs.
And, he kept his nails nicely trimmed, so I had that going for me.
DeleteDude, I was re-reading your comment and as much as I'd like to exclude you from the fun just to spread a little more misery throughout the land, I have to say that indeed my ribs are cracked, and not broken, which was a distinction you made and I forgot about. So join the fun: "YOU WERE FUCKING RIGHT!"
DeletePoor thing! OUCH
ReplyDeleteThank you dear. You remind me a little bit of my single days: when I'd get lucky it was usually because of sympathy ;)
DeleteWowzers.
DeleteGary - thank you for going to the doctor. I think the main purpose for going was more to eliminate the possibility of greater badness than anything else. Damn their eyes for providing insufficient painkillers.
ReplyDeleteAnd, I don't like doctors either. Here's how much Skip and I don't like them. Back when Skip was able enough to transfer from one seat to another, she fell when transferring from the porcelain throne to her wheelchair. I went in to the bathroom to see had happened. Her foot was under her leg and when I reached under her leg, her shoe was on backwards! How did that happen? Well, of course, the foot was in the 180 degree turned shoe. I turned it back around to face forward. She said it didn't hurt (MS nerve damage has its good points). I had a full day of conference calls to get through. We decided not to go to the doctor.
Of course, the next day when her leg was all red, we broke down and went. In addition to 3 breaks in her ankle, she had cellulitis in her leg (skin infection). Fun ensued.
So, my imprecations for you to go to the doctor were more of a "do as I say, not as I do" thing.
Cranks - understood. Actually that gives me a smidgen of comfort; oftentimes the very best advice wouldn't be practiced by those who give it.
DeleteAll kidding aside, thanks for your concern. That goes for all of you, I reckon.