Daveed Reviews

The D O C

I don’t remember too much about Wednesday. I drifted in and out of “sleep” most of the morning. Melissa is fortunate enough to be able to work from home in a pinch, so I could hear her talking on teleconferences as I came and went.

What should have been the most memorable part of any day was when Melissa tried to make me more presentable by giving me a sponge bath. Apparently, Mr. Happy was aware of the grave nature of my condition and was appropriately reserved. Good or bad? You decide.

Shortly before 2 PM, Melissa loaded me up in the Hassan Ambulance and we left to see Dr. Dickson. I want to call him Dr. Dick, the Bone Specialist…do I digress?

The trip over and the wait are both a blur. I do know that we were in an examination room in an acceptable amount of time and, soon after that, interfacing with Dr. Dick-son’s Physician’s Assistant. I’m never really sure what a PA is. Is she just a glorified nurse? A full-fledged doctor that prefers to assist rather than take the reins?

Whatever the case, Dr. Dick-son’s Physician’s Assistant is large and in charge. Probably about 5’4” and very, very plump. Not fat, mind you, but more like she was wearing layer apon layer of clothing rather than just 1, single layer. Her nearly-white hair was painfully pulled back into a bun that would pass quite nicely as a Non Invasive face Lift, giving her a some what astonished expression.

Despite the dulling effects of the meds I was on, she hurt me. Not that she did anything to me physically; it was her manner that was excruciating. She was LOUD and spoke SHARPLY and FORCEFULLY. She wanted everyone within ear shot to know that SHE KNEW HER STUFF. She plopped a figure 8 brace on the examination table and said I would most likely get trussed up in one of these and she blew out of the room, leaving sheets of paper floating to the floor in the vacuum her departure created.

Eventually, Dr. Dick-son came in to see me. He looked at the X-Rays, then my clavicle-boner, and started to discuss surgery as an option. He used the words “Impending Doom” to describe the bone attempting to break the skin on my shoulder, as in "it ain’t compound, but it is for all intents and purposes", and described the procedure.

My clavicle was broken in 2 places. He would make an incision along the natural line of the clavicle, and a second one just behind the shoulder, above the shoulder blade. Then, he would insert a rod down through the clavicle to allow for the bone to knit properly aligned. The outer end of the rod would be bent to keep it in place and left just under the surface of the skin so it could be easily removed when its job was done. And, oh, as long as we have your arm prepped, I’ll go ahead and open up your hand to be sure your tendon’s OK.

Rudy and I looked at each other for a moment. I deferred to her, seeing how her outlook was not affected by narcotics, and so the date was set for the next day at 1 PM.

Along the way home Rudy stopped at Smoothie King and bought us each a smoothie. I rode the rest of the way home with my lips glued to the straw, slowly, gently suckling away. The Ritz cracker of smoothies!

That evening, my brother’s family came by to check on me. My 3-year old neice, Karson, was warned so many times about not jumping on Uncle Dave that she skirted me the entire time she was at the house. Quinten, 13, avoided looking at my shoulder at all costs. Mitchell, 11, would only take his eyes off my shoulder and the protruding bone long enough to bend over at the waist and put his hands on his knees, weary hoopster-style.

Later in the evening, teammates Robbie and Troy popped in. I think Robbie had Shiner, but I had to take a rain check. What we talked about and how long they actually stayed is beyond me. It was just cool that they stopped by and didn’t expect a lot from me in terms of playing host.

Author's note: this entry was completed while I waited for an Ambien to kick in. Please excuse any Riner-like spelling.

posted by daveed @ 14.9.06