Fracture. Actually...POSSIBLY a fracture. But as soon as I heard the *f* word, all the bells and sirens started going off and it stopped when I said "DUDE. You have GOT to be kidding me." Yes. I said that to my doctor. He just shrugged his shoulders, said he was sorry, sent me off for some xrays and went on his merry way with me saying "But.....but....but...." until the door closed. Now, I don't blame Frank. I mean I can't really talk him out of the restrictions he's put me on. If I were him, I would have ran out the door to escape the eye darts I was giving him.
So. Here I am. Day 6 of "rest" and I'm going freaking bananas and waiting for the results. Now, I like Frank. Frank is cool. But Frank, I think you are wrong in your diagnosis. We shall see, Frank, we shall see.
Maybe we should start taking bets. Make it a little interesting. C'mon...mama needs a new pair of shoes!
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