Dr. I Don't Give a Damn says I don't need surgery

So it currently stands that I will not need surgery! Woo hoo! I am very excited....

So Dan and I went to the orthopedic surgeon's office on Christmas Eve morning. First of all it was packed and all the visitors, after providing insurance information and filling out the appropriate paperwork were lined up for x-rays. And, yes, I do quite literally mean lined-up! The door of the x-ray room was left wide open so that I was totally able to see the x-ray sessions of those in line in front of me. But it might as well have been this way, because this doctor was totally impersonal! In and out, in and out, he sent each visitor as if he was the uninvolved cashier at Whole Foods who would rather be anywhere else. Bagging our groceries and then sending us on our way as quickly as possible so the next visitor could sequentially give him his or her hard-earned money and then be shooed off in the same manner.

So, naturally my time with the doctor was approximately three minutes. During these 180 seconds that I was worthy, he tells me to stay off the leg for three weeks and start walking in the walking cast at the beginning of the fourth week. Then I am to come back to see him again, so I can give him more of my money and he can give me another 180 seconds to tell me how it's healed and whether or not I need physical therapy. Merry Christmas to you too Dr. I Don't Give a Damn.

I'm beyond irritated when we leave the office. I talk to my father in the car on the way back to Dan's and he reassures me that many doctors, especially surgeons, are not sympathetic like the more holistic health care professionals I am accustomed to working with. My dad, a doctor himself, explains that a surgeon's brain may be inclined to function like a mechanic's brain. "How can I fix this? What do I need to do?" Not, "How is she feeling inside? How can I be sensitive to her emotions during this uneasy time of physical disabledness?" So, just because this man had the social know-how of a tangerine doesn't mean he is not good at what he does and didn't give a proper assessment.

Okay, okay. My dad always has to be the rational one!

Well, this information did ease me slightly and once I got to thinking about the true outcome of my visit: I can walk in three weeks (meaning I can go back to teaching again in three weeks) I started to feel very happy and thankful.

So if all goes well, in three short weeks my one-footed hop will be back to a limp. And if all goes even better, a week later my limp will develop into a slow walk. And before I know it I'll be practicing again, beyond the realm of asanas one can do with a creatively carved fibula.

So Dr. I Don't Give a Damn, although his approach was perfunctory to say the least, perhaps without effort, gave me the news I needed to find peace of mind and enjoy my holiday. Now, that's yoga: moving forward with grace.