I might get the collar off today. Or… I might not.

I leave for an appointment with my surgeon in seven hours and twenty two minutes.  But it’s hard to get excited about it.  I got excited about it the last time, because she told me that I’d only have to wear the neck brace for four weeks.  Ok, perhaps I was a bit optimistic, but you might be too if you had to wear this thing.  Communication is never the strength of a surgeon – what she intended to say was that I could then move into a soft collar unless I was walking around outside, but I still had to wear the damn thing for at least another six weeks.  Which brings us to today.

Our last appointment was not exactly a premium experience.  She had cancelled our previous appointment with barely a half hour’s notice.   When I was finally able to reschedule she was three hours late and took a call in the middle of our conversation.  Seriously.  She answered none of my questions – just told me to wear the collar an additional six weeks and get X-rays done.  I had to ask my questions to her assistant, who shouted them down the hall to the doctor’s disappearing back.


Of course, there’s no more pain.  The surgery seems to be a success, so I feel like a schmutz for complaining.  But there’s also no more skin around my neck.  It’s rubbed raw from this damn collar and I wouldn’t mind looking down now and again.  Or to even have a reasonable expectation of what the hell is going on.

I mean, surgery is hard enough.  Do I have to be constantly reminded that I’m the least important person in the room?  Christ.


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