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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.
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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.”
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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.
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It isn’t often a radiologist gets to laugh at a patient while taking x-rays. You’re welcome, Doc.
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Nothing preserves the dignity of a homeless guy whose body was donated to science like Mardi Gras beads.
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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.