“Okay, it’s getting better, and my thigh pain has almost gone. My knee is still sore, but I’m hoping you’ll tell me I can stop with the crutches today.”
His fingers kept digging as he bent my knee then opened my leg out, back and forth. “You don’t like the crutches?”
“No, they’re a pain in the ass.”
“We’ll see.”
It took all my internal strength not to rise to the attitude he was giving me, because if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was doing it on purpose and deliberately trying to rile me.
“Okay, sit up and let’s check your x-rays.”
I frowned. “I haven’t had them yet, my appointment was with you first.”
“You were supposed to get them before you came here,” he grumbled.
“Well, I didn’t get the memo. So can I just go now?”
He punched his fist out dramatically, the sleeve of his shirt rising up, and looked at his watch.
“Fine, as long as you’re back here in an hour I can still fit you in.” He picked up a pad of paper and scrawled on it, ripping off the top sheet, handing it to me. “Give them this, it will rush you through.”
He went back to his desk, picking up where he’d left off with his forms, leaving me to put my pants back on and walk to the x-ray department, completely ignoring me as I exited the office. And if the only motivation I had to get fixed was the fact that the sooner I did, the sooner I would never see him again, then that was good enough for me.
Fifty-five minutes later I was back again, and he brought the x-rays up on the screen, nodding his head as he studied them.
“This looks good, its healed very nicely. She did a good job.”
My heart swelled so much it could easily have been mistaken for one of the Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons. “Yes, she did.”
“Your knee is looking good too. I did an excellent job.” He glared at me and I swear he was trying to hold in a smirk. “But I want you to keep the crutches.”
“Why? I thought I could get rid of them after today.”
“Because I said so.”
Seriously, if he was like this with all his patients, how was it possible this guy didn’t get punched more?
“Okay.”
“The acupuncture is working well, your range of motion has greatly improved with the therapy, and if your physical therapist is happy, then you can proceed with what they’re asking, swimming, light weights, that sort of thing.”
I felt slightly mollified at his change in temperament, because I did want to get back to workouts. “Okay, thanks, Doc. I’ll let them know.”
I stood, picking up my stupid crutches and made my way to the door.
“She's a worse surgeon because of you, you know. You’re holding her back.”
I stopped and turned around, not quite sure what I’d just heard. Or understood.
“Excuse me?”
His expression hardened. “Molly, you’re dragging her down.”
My temples started throbbing from the pressure of holding in my annoyance. “What?”
“Her Fellowship, she’s not taking it.”
My mouth set firm while I waited for him to explain, which he didn’t. “What Fellowship?”
