The Urgent Care said that if I had no mobility a week after the "heinous blogging accident", then I should see an Orthopedist. And one week later, no matter what I did, that broken index finger would only stand straight up.
Wouldn't it have been funny if it was my birdie finger instead? And yes, that was a rhetorical. It would have been HILARIOUS!
Not to mention, it could really come in handy.
To the idiot in the carpool line letting your 3-year-old hang out of the sunroof like it's Panama City Spring Break: "Sorry! Broken finger!"
To the umpire at my daughter's softball game who clearly needs Lasik surgery: "Sorry! Broken finger!"
To the coupon nazi standing in front me of at the grocery store who is presenting 20,000 coupons to buy 42 items: "Sorry! Broken finger!"
But instead, it was just my index finger. And there's nothing remotely funny about that.
I called the ortho's office to ask for very specific directions before my appointment. As in, treat me like I'm from a place where people actually speak as southern as I'm talking to you right now. I'm terrible with directions. One time I got lost inside a wet paper bag and it took me two days to find my way out. True story.
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I left 30 minutes early for my appointment. If you know me, then you know that me being early for something hasn't happened since.... well, okay, it's never happened until now. My Dad just cried tiny, little tears and has no idea why.
The ortho's office told me to park in the North Parking Deck and then take the bridge to Suite 2000. Sounds easy enough, right? Not even I can screw this one up! (That's what us bloggers like to refer to as "foreshadowing".)
At the end of the bridge, there was a concierge there to help me. In this example, "concierge" means a disgruntled, middle-aged lady who doesn't give a crap if I make it to my appointment or not. I asked her if I was going the right way for the orthopedic practice and she was nice enough to look up from her iPhone long enough to grunt out, "Yeah. Suite 2000. D Elevator." Great! I'm in the right place.
Suite 2000 was gorgeous! There was spa music playing and I could smell a hint of lavender. Nice touch.
A very sweet lady checked me in and I started filling out some paperwork. They called me back about ten minutes later and took me into a room with a surgical bed and two chairs in it.
And like we say where I'm from, "SOMETHIN' AIN'T RIGHT HERE!"
As luck would have it, there are two bridges from the North Deck - one that takes you to the outpatient surgical center (ahem) and one that takes you to the professional services building. I obviously chose the wrong one. And coincidentally, Dr. Johnston's OFFICE is in Suite 2000 of one building and he does SURGERIES in Suite 2000 of the other.
I guess this goes without saying, but somebody should really do something about that.
Does stuff like this happen to you? Please say that it does because I'm starting to get paranoid. IT'S LIKE THE WHOLE WORLD KNOWS THAT I BLOG NOW.
And I'm sorry to report that no amount of spa music or lavender candles could calm the nerves of the patients who saw somebody taken back for surgery WHO DIDN'T NEED SURGERY. Sure - they tried to save themselves by saying, "We just noticed that you weren't on our list", but shouldn't there be a better checks and balance system than that?
Of course, who would be stupid enough to check themselves in for surgery if they weren't there for surgery? And yes, that was another rhetorical.
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| This is what a broken finger looks like that doesn't need surgery. But you can kind of see why somebody thought it did. |
The obvious ending to the story? I was late to my orthopedist appointment anyway. Sorry, Dad.
Did you remember to vote today? One click = One vote.
Vote for me and I'll break another bone. Hopefully this time it will be the birdie finger!
Vote for me and I'll break another bone. Hopefully this time it will be the birdie finger!
