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Archive for September, 2005

September 27, 2005 Leave a comment

P.S. I love Dr. D. more than chocolate. I think he fixed me.

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September 27, 2005 Leave a comment

I think I talked Morgan out of the blindfolded martial arts, by cleverly demonstrating my complete inability to jump and pivot without the power of sight. I’m relieved, even if I am singlehandedly destroying her fondest dream.

Sometimes, you just have to put your foot down. Preferably in the proper spot.

Note: I must remember that thing she said about the hip moving.

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September 27, 2005 1 comment

Pretend that I wrote an angst-ridden and extremely tiresome post, beginning with seeing one of my exes, his current SO, and their brand new child, ending with me crying through an entire bus ride home. It would have been irritatingly self-pitying, and you would have liked me less. Not to mention that there’s nothing less poetic than public transportation.

Today is a beautiful day. There’s a good wind blowing.

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September 26, 2005 Leave a comment

I’ve been trying to liberate the (film? CD?) of the MRI they took of my ankle, so I can get a second opinion on it. Today after the doctor’s office 1) put me on interminable hold, and 2) hung up on me when I called back, I finally went in person to the actual orthopedist’s office, where, in fact, they were unable to locate the MRI results and instead gave me the film from the previous X-rays, the X-rays that say there’s nothing wrong.

So I guess it is all in my head after all, and that whole osteochondritis dissecans lesion thing was all just a dream.

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More random conversation

September 26, 2005 Leave a comment

My ex-roommate: “-and I ate a huge pork sausage…”

Me: Is that a euphemism?

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Words spoken with irony at work

September 22, 2005 Leave a comment

“That music makes me want to do Pilates!”

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Not-news, and so forth…

September 21, 2005 Leave a comment

Well, Dr. D., friend and erstwhile TKDer (he’ll be back in about a month), took a look at my bones and gave me a completely different diagnosis from Dr. R. (just some orthopedist). I like John’s diagnosis better, both because it would mean no or much less extreme surgery, and because it really seems to fit my actual symptoms. He gave me an injection with an impressively slender and bendy needle (novocaine, cortisone), and I swear that last night’s TKD class was just a little less painful. If this works, my gratitude will know no bounds, because four years of chronic pain can really wear you out.

I finally broke down and told my mother that I had been considering surgery, just so I could tell her I probably wouldn’t be needing it. The response was immediate and overblown: “If you had surgery, you would talk to people and research doctors and get the best surgeon, wouldn’t you? It doesn’t matter if your insurance doesn’t cover it!” It’s a nice thought, mom, but you’re poor too, and I’d really like to save enough to move out of the Bronx for good. No, I wouldn’t talk to people. I hate people. Yes, I would research.

Remind me never to tell my parents anything, ever again.

Also, in a freakish bout of nigh perfect timing, my mother finally admitted that she absolutely hates my martial arts master and thinks he’s a horrible man. This revelation came mere hours after I’d written a 2-page, gushing thank you note for his school’s 30th anniversary present. Although when pressed, my mother says she doesn’t actually want me to quit my school or martial arts, she would like me to consider other schools.

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