Don’t send flowers.
I visited the orthopedist this morning, over at Orthopedia Factory Outlet. Following the current trend in medicine, this place is volume, volume, volume. The practice has over a dozen doctors!
That being said, I can’t complain about my treatment. A nice woman took my medical info (three pages, including one question that asked my hobbies – I didn’t answer that one) and co-pay. Co-pay first, medicine second.
Another nice woman (showing her pregnancy enough that I asked when she was due with no fear of being wrong) took me to a small examining room in the back. I was asked to don a pair of paper shorts! Really? I’d never seen these before.
Note to doctors: Better magazines, please.
The orthopod, a pleasant, young, tall, attractive woman, examined my leg and ordered up X-rays. Truth is, after she squeezed the leg and asked the right questions, we both knew it was a fracture. The X-rays only confirmed the obvious.
So, I’m in a boot. Friends had mentioned the probability of a boot earlier and I visualized what it was. Wrong!
Held together with Velcro straps, the boot covers my leg from the toes all the way up to my knee. For the next six weeks I’ll be wearing it (and will also be incapable of sneaking up on anyone) except while in bed or the shower. It is much better (from my standpoint) than a cast.
For the next six weeks I will mercilessly wear out my right shoe while leaving the left in the closet.
At least I’m on my way to healing and, of course, that’s the part that’s most important.