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.

Surgeons.

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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