Saturday, February 10, 2007
THEMS IS THE BREAKS...........
Just for laughs :)
surfing dogs
floating dog
issues dog
narcoleptic dog
Joke form my sister's man Glenn ( a psych. nurse in Ireland ):
Psychotics build castles in the sky,
Neurotics worry about them falling
And psychiatrists live in them.
A jew, a muslim and a catholic were sitting in a pool.
(That's not a joke, that's a hydro therapy session at rehab.)
And the crazy thing is we didn't kill each other!
Good news!!!
Went to see my orthopaedic surgeon on Thursday, x-rays in tow, to see what he had to say about my status, condition, whatever you want to call it.
Walked into his rooms and announced my arrival for the 5:00 to the receptionist.
"Hi, I'm Chris. I've got an appointment at 5."
"Chris who?" ( I hadn't actually met her face to face before )
Then after realising with whom she was speaking came the:
"Oh , so YOU'RE Chris!"
This was accompanied by a strange look that somehow combined awe, respect, pity and even something resembling the kind of expression usually reserved for those times when one has a visual encounter with an entity which should be eternally resting and not prancing about with a sheet over their head going "wooo wooooooh".
The lady knew me of course, but in the way you know someone through their medical files, booking theatre sessions for them, scheduling appointments, etc.
So off I crutched to see the surgeon, who had done such a fantastic job on me those 11 or so months ago.
I can only imagine what went through his head when I was wheeled into the trauma centre.
"Another bloody motorcyclist!"
"Oh crap, better ring my wife and have her cancel the dinner reservations."
"Better boil the kettle, we're going to be here for a while."
"Ching ching! This should cover the final payment on the Aston Martin."
I sat down and went through the pleasantries as I hadn't seen him since about September or something.
"So how's trix?"
"I should've known better than to go on holiday, it's absolutely flat out."
"Well, if anyone needs a break it'd be you."
Boom Boom!!!!!
After inspecting the x-rays the doc appeared rather happy with what they were indicating.
I would go as far as to use the word surprised!
Even the right leg, which to me appeared the least healed of the lot, was looking well according to him.
He took me through a time line where injury = time to heal.
It went something like: 1 lower leg injury = 3 months, 2 lower leg injuries = 6 months, fractured pelvis add 6 months, open wounds add 6 months, etc.
By that chart I should expect to have fully recovered sometime in the next decade.
He was adamant that I was in far better shape than I had any real right to be and that I should spend the next 6 months leaping around like a paranoid mountain goat on speed and really get some strength into my busted up legs.
We scheduled an appointment for July so we can discuss the removal of most of the metal in my body as well as having the plastics guys do their thing on my relocated calf muscle.
So for now I have to put up with the silly lump of meat doing it's own useless thing on the side of my leg.
.
surfing dogs
floating dog
issues dog
narcoleptic dog
Joke form my sister's man Glenn ( a psych. nurse in Ireland ):
Psychotics build castles in the sky,
Neurotics worry about them falling
And psychiatrists live in them.
A jew, a muslim and a catholic were sitting in a pool.
(That's not a joke, that's a hydro therapy session at rehab.)
And the crazy thing is we didn't kill each other!
Good news!!!
Went to see my orthopaedic surgeon on Thursday, x-rays in tow, to see what he had to say about my status, condition, whatever you want to call it.
Walked into his rooms and announced my arrival for the 5:00 to the receptionist.
"Hi, I'm Chris. I've got an appointment at 5."
"Chris who?" ( I hadn't actually met her face to face before )
Then after realising with whom she was speaking came the:
"Oh , so YOU'RE Chris!"
This was accompanied by a strange look that somehow combined awe, respect, pity and even something resembling the kind of expression usually reserved for those times when one has a visual encounter with an entity which should be eternally resting and not prancing about with a sheet over their head going "wooo wooooooh".
The lady knew me of course, but in the way you know someone through their medical files, booking theatre sessions for them, scheduling appointments, etc.
So off I crutched to see the surgeon, who had done such a fantastic job on me those 11 or so months ago.
I can only imagine what went through his head when I was wheeled into the trauma centre.
"Another bloody motorcyclist!"
"Oh crap, better ring my wife and have her cancel the dinner reservations."
"Better boil the kettle, we're going to be here for a while."
"Ching ching! This should cover the final payment on the Aston Martin."
I sat down and went through the pleasantries as I hadn't seen him since about September or something.
"So how's trix?"
"I should've known better than to go on holiday, it's absolutely flat out."
"Well, if anyone needs a break it'd be you."
Boom Boom!!!!!
After inspecting the x-rays the doc appeared rather happy with what they were indicating.
I would go as far as to use the word surprised!
Even the right leg, which to me appeared the least healed of the lot, was looking well according to him.
He took me through a time line where injury = time to heal.
It went something like: 1 lower leg injury = 3 months, 2 lower leg injuries = 6 months, fractured pelvis add 6 months, open wounds add 6 months, etc.
By that chart I should expect to have fully recovered sometime in the next decade.
He was adamant that I was in far better shape than I had any real right to be and that I should spend the next 6 months leaping around like a paranoid mountain goat on speed and really get some strength into my busted up legs.
We scheduled an appointment for July so we can discuss the removal of most of the metal in my body as well as having the plastics guys do their thing on my relocated calf muscle.
So for now I have to put up with the silly lump of meat doing it's own useless thing on the side of my leg.
.
