I’ve gotten used to going to hospitals this year. I’ve gone more times than I really care to remember since my unfortunate incident.
I went again on Friday on what will be (hopefully) my final visit of the year. This is a slightly tardy six-month exam of my pinned together fracture.
The resident came in and asked a slew of questions before my doctor walking in the door.
“This one’s a real son of a bitch,” he motioned to me while talking to the resident, “he finished a race with a broken hip!”
She looked at me with a look mixed with horror and something resembling “whoa.”
“Any pain?” he asked.
“Not really. My knee still hurts a little but it’s getting better and I’m still numb around here [motioning around my thigh].”
“Well, you might never get that back… is it getting any better?”
“I have a little more feeling. I can feel someone touching my skin there…”
“Alright! You’ll have a full recovery!” the doctor said with a rueful laugh. “Well, you can do whatever you want. I want see see you again in another six months for one last time. I want you to know I haven’t ridden my bike since you came in.”
I gave him a strange look…
“No, it’s not because of you.”