That’s Not Something You Hear Every Day #30

It’s no secret that I am not a fan of the MRI machine. The last time I was asked to enter one in recent history—to check out the cause of my shoulder pain—I lasted 30 seconds and had to be pulled out. Thirty seconds, people.

On Tuesday, at my follow-up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon (this, after countless hours every week of being man-handled by a physical therapist, a chiropractor, and a massage therapist upon his recommendation on May 28), he came into the room, asked me to raise my arm, and said, “You are not progressing as much as I’d like to see. I’d like to order an MRI….”

The surgeon mentioned a lot of medical terminology—soft tissue and the like—to explain why he needed the MRI, but all I heard was, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Blah blah.”

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