Or at least I'm still really good at faking it.
In any event I made it through the last surgery relatively unscathed. Even better, they were actually able to DO the damn surgery this time. Apart from some laser burns showing on the outside of the skin (where the laser was burning on the inside) and a single stitch in my ankle you'd never know I'd had anything done.
This was my right leg. When they tried my left leg two weeks ago they couldn't feed the laser through because of muscle spasms.
Apparently I was a lot more relaxed this time.
On a totally unrelated note, Victoria came by the night before and we went over to Ryan's to hang out, then afterward back to my place.
I dare to say a good time was had by all.
And NO, I'll not be elaborating further, you perverts...
So I'm now recuperating from the after effects (of the SURGERY, you assholes...) and marveling at the matters of coincidence that we sometimes run into.
See, that morning, as I'm waiting in the glassed-in human aquarium of a waiting room they have I heard some people talking a few seats over and they said my name. I looked up from my book (I always take a book to a doctor's appointment) but nobody was looking my way.
I go back to reading and I hear someone else say my name. I look up and still no one is looking at me, but other people around the room are also saying my name. Eventually I heard enough bits of scattered conversation to piece together that on that very morning someone with my name, even spelled the same, had shot his wife and someone else and then attempted to commit suicide.
So I'm sitting in a room full of people who are talking about this and I'm waiting for the receptionist to call my name.
I couldn't help but smile. :D
It took a few hours, but when my name was called the room fucking STOPPED.
No sound, no movement.
I stood up and walked to the counter in total silence. In fact, I didn't hear a sound till after I'd walked out the aquarium door and turned the corner.
Damn that felt good. :D
I don't feel much sympathy for the stupid bastards either. The other 'me' is 9 years older than me and was in police custody at the other hospital where, presumably, they were trying to fix the self inflicted bullet wound in his fucking chest. If they can't figure out that I can't possibly be that guy then fuck 'em. Let them be freaked out.
And alright, I'll admit it, I kinda got off on it.
So that was my day. How was yours?
Into The Doors
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Labels: Medical Horseshit