The diagnosis is torn ligaments in my middle finger. The doctor said I would've been better off breaking it, because this is a tougher healing process in which I have to wear this contraption for eight weeks. If my finger bends back the slightest bit at any time, the clock resets on the eight weeks. Welcome to my world.
In the “Who referred you?” section of the paperwork, I wrote, “I never settle for anything less than the specialist who treats the quarterback of my beloved Jets.”
Adding insult to injury: my streak of never watching this shitbag “Father Albert” show is now over – it was on in the radiology waiting room.
It isn’t often a radiologist gets to laugh at a patient while taking x-rays. You’re welcome, Doc.
Nothing preserves the dignity of a homeless guy whose body was donated to science like Mardi Gras beads.
Diane the Physical Therapist wanted to capture my reaction after she and the doctor told me I wouldn’t be able to work out or play ball for two months. I want her dead.