Warning: Sit Down Before Reading

Boyfriend came home at 5pm to a shocking scene today.  Something he had never seen before, and was totally unprepared for.

I was awake.  I had already taken a shower.  I was dressed, in a cute outfit, no less.  I had make-up on. 

After I resuscitated him, he managed to ask me between gasps, "Ummm, are you... in a... good mood... or something?"

Yes, Boyfriend, and Yes, World, I am in a good mood.  Notify all relevant authorities, and make way for the apocalypse. 

Rae, a good mood?  Come on!  How?  What about what happened?  Why on earth are you so happy?

Why?  I'll tell you why.  I am in love.  I have met the man with the dazzling white smile, the man who never ages past 35, the man who can solve every problem he is confronted with, the man who always delivers good news, the man who is always on time for dinner with his wife and 2.5 kids... the John Wayne of the medical world.

The Orthopedic Surgeon.

Fell out of a tree?  No problem.  Tore your ACL in the big game?  He'll fix you right up.  For this man, hope springs eternal, and the only thing you have to worry about is which color you want your cast to be.  You come in with pain and a broken body, and you leave with a skip and a whistle.  Well, maybe not a skip, exactly, but you know.

Breaking my arm was freeing in a way.  He fixed it, and it will be fine.  Orthopedic surgeons have one clear course of action, and it always works.  Good as new.

Oncologists are a whole different breed.  They are disorganized and haggard beyond their years.  They discuss "options" and their cost-benefits analyses.  They mutter confusing information to themselves more than to anyone else.  They begin sentences with, "Well, what we might try is..." and end them with, "...but there are no guarantees."  Oncologists are continually delivering bad news, and the good news is always tempered with caution.  And quite frankly, they are generally a bummer to be around.

Not Dr. Orthopedic Cutie Pie.  He doles out encouraging words like they are going out of style.  There is no disclaimer when he says everything is going to be fine.  Because it really is.  He teases you about the way you were injured, and sends you off with a sticker and an appointment (just a formality, really) in a few weeks. 

Dr. Looks Too Young to Be a Doctor fixed me, and everything is all right.  And probably, when I go in for my next follow-up, he will have no idea who I am... because I am just a normal patient.  With a normal injury.  Nothing unusual or confusing or frustrating about it.  He will tell me that everything looks good, and forget me right away.

I am normal, or at least, my arm is.  There is just no better feeling in the world right now. 

Comments

[Louise]

Springtime lurve with the orthopedic surgeon . . . sigh. Glad to hear your arm is normal. What colour is the cast?

[Rae]

Hot pink... of course!

[Noelle]

Yay for happiness, good moods, pink casts, and hot doctors! and normal arms!

[Jen]

I have been out of blog world for a bit, but was so sad to hear about your ER week, broken arm, and stupid numbers!!!! I sigh in frustration, but I am glad you had a "normal" day, because oh how good it feels to be normal. I hope this feeling lasts and lasts.