Ahhh All That is Beauty

Thought I'd suck your ass in with this on. I guess in a manner of speaking, this IS a beauty, but I want it to be someone else's beauty.

Dr. Quack who said I was bruised and needed to exercise my shoulder should be shot at a firing line. I should be the one with the pistola.

I went to see the competent doctor yesterday and was shown how my cuff is not only torn but has a fucking hole in it. A bone PUNCTURED it. Yeah.

1. I felt pissed and scared all at the same time because now I know there will be more hoops through which I will have to jump in order to get this covered by workman's comp.
2. And relieved because I was beginning to think I was Miss Hypochondriac in a Sling. It's been almost a freaking month that I've been walking around in this thing, and I've started to feel like a freak show.

I will find out when the surgery is tomorrow. The surgical office through which my surgeon works was closed on Saturday. I'm looking at about three weeks out of work, three months in a sling, and physical therapy to get back to a semi-normal condition.

I didn't tell the good doctor that I'd seen the bad one until yesterday. After he went through he MRI results with me and explained that there was no other way to attempt to fix my shoulder, I enlightened him. I explained how the idiot had told me that I merely had a bruise and needed to exercise the shoulder to gain my mobility back. The good doctor's face got all red and puffy. I almost cracked up.

I think what he was feeling was what good teachers feel when people tell them about BAD teachers. We're sorta lumped into the same category no matter how good or bad, ya know?

He told me it was ridiculous, that I still need to be in the sling, that surgery is the only option, and that it doesn't really matter what the idiot said, I will get the care that I need.

You said it, mister.

And off to make my appointment with the superintendent to ask her how she's going to fix THIS.

The Pig

Butter's got the pig flu. Bastard pig.

Brought him the dr yesterday even though I didn't want to. I had to ask for a mask. I don't care if there ARE a ton of people with this. Let's cover it up, peeps! He hated the mask but wore it until we were back in the room.

He cried and cried because he thought they were going to give him another shot. The last time we were there he had three shots and a finger prick. The kids's got a mind like a steel trap. The doc? I LOVE him. He walked into the room, took one look at my kid, and said, "Hey, buddy! NO shots today! Not one!"

Prior to the doctor coming in, Butter had tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked at me and said, "Let's just get out of here! I'm not sick anymore!" Yeah. He was fine and dandy with being sicker than hell as long as he didn't have to face a shot. Once the doc made it clear he wasn't going to stick him, he jumped off the chair and let the man poke and prod. Again. I. Love. This. Doctor.

I am no longer going to the chick who is there. She pissed me off to high heaven. The guy is greatness and digs Robert. He talks to me like I'm not an idiot and is old skool - he didn't give me Tamiflu, and I wasn't piss faced about it.

Normally, that would have set me off. Nope. Vick's, Motrin, and HONEY. For real. He said dark honey cures a lot of what's ill with people - including some of the BAD BAD BAD symptoms from this pig shit.

Lucky for me, I have a HUGE jar of the shit in my kitchen from one of my local bee keepers - AND it's dark. Love love love!

And get this - he REMEMBERED Butter from an appointment we had with him 2 1/2 months ago. Before that appointment, he'd never seen Butter. Hell, I'd never seen the doc. He was new to the practice. We'd been shuttled into an appointment with him for a physical and well-child visit. Because he was new to the practice, he had more open appointments than the other docs. Without me mentioning a word to him, he brought up some blood work he'd ordered on Butter from last time, asked me if I was giving my kid the supplements to help with the low numbers we saw on the blood work, blah, blah, blah.

Yeah. He remembered. That means a whole hell of a lot to me than someone who rifles through a file before opening the door. I don't expect doctors, or anyone else for that matter, to remember everything. No one can do that. But he recalled my kid's face and some sketchy blood work. That's good enough for me. We discussed the timeline - we weren't supposed to go back for a recheck on his blood shit for another month - and parted with smiles all around.

I hope everyone has a doctor who's half as compassionate, smart, and supportive as this one.

N.B.
I am heading to my ortho guy this morning. I had an MRI last week. I'll know more on my fucking shoulder shit later today. I'm hoping for some PT and that's IT.

Quote Time

From one of the kids in my double block class. All but one child is a minority student. All of the kids failed the state standard test last year and have a double block of English with me to help get them up to speed.

I mentioned that I knew about a show on BET. I even gave proof by quoting something from the show.

Several children looked at me in disbelief. I could see the whole thought process working - how in the hell could she possibly know about anything on BET because she is WHITE.

One spoke up to defend my honor:
"Ya'll!!!!!!!! SHE BLACK! You didn't know that?" Yes. He meant this. I am not kidding.

Which was met by a chorus of "Ooooooooooooooohhhhhhssss..." as if all it took was one kid explaining that I am not in fact white; I am black.

Ok.

Race change. Check.

I love my kids. Love them. They are tore up from the floor up. And damn greatness.