11 September 2004
Oh drat, part 2
(In which I begin to record the travails of my broken finger and related psychological issues and recovery.)
Today sucks. Today my hatred of doctors grows. Today I plot my revenge on the one at Crawford Long emergency room who said it's not broken
and sent me away even as the bone started fusing obviously crooked. Doctors gotta know you feel that way, that patients can feel such hatred. An x-ray, a splint, and ta-da. Instead, I'm forced to sit here and bitch.
Today I hate myself for playing piano last night. It's really sensitive right now. Something, somehow numbed me to not feel it, and I've been taught a lesson.
Doctor's appointment on Monday, 10 AM. Dr. Atallah (AKA Dr. X-ray) from my second visit to Crawford Long referred me to Dr. Frederick Work, a plastic surgeon.
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