"OH MY GOD"
Not the kind of response you'd hope to get in a doctors office under any circumstances. Any doctors office. I guess she didn't like Red, white and chrome together either. I know I didn't like it much. Without missing a beat, the good doctor looked at me, then my wife, and said "would you excuse me for just a minute?" He then looked at his assistant and told her to please follow him. He directed her to a six foot high Oriental bi-fold set of room dividers in the other corner of our examination room, just a few feet away from us. He disappeared behind the paper divider and proceeded to chew her ass out, but good. One of the many things I overheard him tell her was this: "I don't care if I pull off a bandage and a hill of ants come crawling out, don't you ever react like that again or you'll be handing fast food thru a window at McDonald's next week!" His instructions completed, he and his brunette assistant emerged from the paper mache' strong hold and instantly re-assumed his professional bed side manner.
Without hesitation, he said, "Now, where were we?"
I basically told him I was referred to him by Dr. Griffin out of Douglas County, a bordering county to Fulton County (the same county the good doctor's office was located in, but close to fifty years behind the type of doctoring this guy could offer). I explained to him that I had a great insurance plan, it was paying 100%, and did he think there might be something "we" could do to save my leg. The "we" part was my only suck-up maneuver, and I was hoping it might have a small bit of steam. He stepped back a half step, scratched his chin, then asked to be excused. Of course, who was I to stop the guy. I guess I could have asked him to grab me a coffee, one cream/two sugars, but I decided not to. Maybe he had a goober fixing job he needed to attend to, and I could see how that might be more important than a broke leg. Just the reaction I got from Miss July was worth the trip, and one I have shared with just about every doctor I have ever met, or under who's watch care I have mended. I did take a minute and let Miss July off the hook for her comments, and told her it was funny in a disturbing kinda way. She apologized for her unprofessional actions and both my bride and I told her it was "OK". I even told her I'd talk to her boss about it if she wanted me to.
As if on cue, Dr. Zubowitz walked back into the room and with an excited tone exclaimed, "You are in luck, there is a Doctor who specializes in orthopedic medicine, specifically difficult bone breaks. His office is right here in this building. I just called him and asked him to see you as a personal favor to me". He looked at his watch and asked if we had any appointments later that day and we told him no. He then asked when we could go see his friend and I asked him when he might have an opening, any opening. He told me, "Well, I asked him if he could see you right now." I looked at my bride, shook his hand, and said "Lets Roll!" He spent a few more minutes telling me about the new technique his friend, Dr. Powell, had learned in the past three months. Apparently, when we began liking the Russians after the cold war ended, the borders opened up and we decided we'd go over and teach those communists a thing or two about medicine. Dr. Powell attended a conference concerning the work of one Dr.Gavril Abramovich Ilizarov, a little know doctor here in the states, but a pioneer in healing and repairing crush injuries via the Ilizarov Fixater in Mother Russia. His invention, which holds a bone crushed or severed in place, by virtue of a framework and pins through the bone. I told Doctor Zubowitz I had no idea what he was talking about, but I was game. Miss July walked back into the room with a folder in her manicured hands and said, "Best of luck to you", a little bit better than her earlier repose.
Truth was, she could have read the phone book, and that would have been just fine.
When we made our way out of Dr. Zubowitz's luxurious offices, I noticed his waiting room was filled to the brim. Apparently the rich folk all slept in, and he reserved his charity cases between nine and ten in the morning, of which I was a beneficiary. I did notice that there were a lot of good looking older women, their true age hidden by the incredible work the doctor provided. It must have cost a lot of someones hard earned scratch just to keep all those boobs and faces from sagging. There were two dudes in the waiting room too. I guessed they must have had some other sort of weenie issue, not related to gun play by some betrayed former significant other. Neither had a Mason jar with anything floating in it, at least that I could see, but I didn't know for sure. Neither one of them looked very happy to be there, so I surmised they must have had a spouse in a back examination room getting estimated for a complete overhaul. I gave them both a "dude nod" acknowledging their pain.
On our way up to Dr. Powell's office, I asked my lovely bride if there might be anything she might like to have done by the good doctor and without hesitation she said "I'd love to have him deliver that beautiful leather sofa he had in the examination room to our house". I was reminded yet again why I loved her so. She is a beautiful, low maintenance woman, just my type. And shes a Brunette.
I walked into Dr. Powell's office and that was the turning point in my busted leg story.
Swing in tomorrow, it still gets better.
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