Tuesday was my return visit to the Witch Shoulder Doctor to hear his verdict based on the wonderful notes written by Agador Spartacus, Physical Therapist to the Stars Middle-Aged Mundane. This picture doesn’t really do him justice and Dr. Ortho Pedic is nice enough as doctors go, but he’s in the wrong field. He should live in Pennsylvania, wear a top hat and yearly fondle a Punxatawny rodent. Apparently, Dr. Ortho Pedic saw his shadow and I have 6 more weeks of this **&%^&&%% sling contraption. Stupid doctor.
Can I drive? No.
Can I move my arm to the side? No.
Can I have more Percoset? Yes (okay 1 out of 3 is not bad).
I am now faced with even more physical therapy – not just for the shoulder that I still maintain they should have at least duct-taped in, or set with Velcro so if it comes out I can stick it back in, but also for my lower back due to the most horrific back spasms which make me walk like I’m 105 years old and refer to all men younger than 90 as Sonny. Grrrr. So now Chunky Monkey gets to take out his aggression on my back after he stretches my arm enough to pull it right out of the socket again. I just know when all is said and done I’m going to have one arm dragging the floor. I know it. Did I mention I’m feeling a tad hateful right now?
Crap on a crutch. I can’t do anything with this arm for fear of hurting it more — I can’t exercise because not only am I off-balanced (I know you know I’ve always been off-balanced but now I have a legitimate excuse to say that) but I can’t take the chance of falling and hurting anything else. Plus the most walking I can do is from the front of Target to the Pharmacy Counter where even the Pharmacist suggests I sit down and she’ll get me some water and one of the la-la pills she is filling for me. Pitiful. People give me pitiful looks and I want to throw my sling at them but it’s foam and wouldn’t hurt. Crap on a crutch.
Seems I still have a ways to go… if only I had seen the sign back in January…