Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

It Doesn't Work -- That's Why It's Called a Broken Arm

The waiting room at the orthopaedic surgeon's office, in which I am waiting, is pretty cold. Funeral homes are cold, and this waiting room is on par with that. I'm sitting under the wide screen TV tuned to the Food Network.

One guy has a cast on his wrist. There's a multi-colored hair, teenaged girl sitting by herself on the couch to my right reading a Harry Potter book -- her mother has come in and gone outside several times for phone calls. Cellular phones are prohibited. That's what the sign claims, mounted on the window just to the right of the rude receptionist. She has no visible abnormalities -- the girl with the multi-colored hair, that is. The mother might be Borg, for all I know, with a device surgically implanted in the side of her head that allows her to communicate with that sweaty-faced woman who is the chief Borg, who if she had been on Star Trek when Kirk was around, you can be sure Kirk would have bedded her, detachable body or not.

There are two chairs across from me. Kevin, who was just called and taken away by the smallish, stern woman wearing a blue smock, had been sprawled across both chairs, making himself too comfortable. His father, wearing his camouflage "Fishing is Fun" logo baseball cap and Caballa's t-shirt, is reading Guns & Ammo magazine. When he says something to Kevin, he doesn't look up. Nothing apparent is wrong with Kevin -- no cast, immobilizer, sling, or other indications of orthopedic surgery.

I'm puzzled. I'm not a fisherman; so, I don't rightly understand the significance of the camo hat, but there must be some reasonable explanation for it -- he tries to catch flying fish. That must be the reason.

Stacey needed to produce a photo I.D. when she checked in with the rude, bespectacled receptionist. I suppose they want to verify she is who she claims to be and not some other woman with a broken arm, who has taken her place.

Stacey has been wondering why her arm still hurts. I've told her time and again that, and I've been scolded and called a dumbass, with which label I can't argue, for doing so, "Of course it hurts. You have a broken arm."

When she came out of where they had her sequestered, she said she asked the orthopedic surgeon if it was normal for her to be in such pain. I know that the drugs were clouding her mind because under normal circumstances, she would have never admitted that: "He said it's normal because I have a broken bone, that broken bones hurt."

Posted by Bill at July 31, 2007 02:38 PM