This morning was my final (good lord willing) visit to the lovely and talented Dr. McCarty, apostle of the holy arthroscope. After 20 minutes of driving, and 5 minutes of waiting, he came in and inspected my surgically repaired knee. He declared that I have been healed (can I get an amen!) and gave me the all-clear to do anything I damn well please on the knee, so long as I wasn't too ridiculously stupid about it. Even better, he wasn't offended when I said that I hoped never to see him again...
I'm sure Ezra would find something criminally wrong with the fact that I spent nearly an hour of driving and waiting for 2 minutes of my doctor's time, but to be fair it was my own decision to see an orthopod in Boulder. What can I say? This is like if I was planning my wedding, and wanted a chocolate fountain, and Switzerland was a 20-minute drive down the road. What would you do?
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