Sep 30, 2016 3 min read

After a week of discomfort (read: PAIN!), I had to see a doctor about my shoulder. I went to the place my brother Brian lovingly refers to as “Doc in the Box.”

I was on my way home from work, and I waved at someone for letting me merge into the lane. Realizing it had been more than a week and I couldn’t get my arm up to my ear made me detour to the doc. It was my first time in the fast food of medicine, and I didn’t know what to expect. It looked like any other medical facility. It just happened to be open after 5. It was brimming over with sick people. It was like Happy Hour, except no one was happy.

I looked around at people in various levels of distress. They played contemporary music over the PA. I think Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” was an odd choice in a medical office, but I guess they don’t pick and choose the music. I hoped no one was in the back room getting a fatal diagnosis while their spouse bopped to the music: “How do you think I’m going to get along, without you when you’re gone?”

Finally, they called my name. I never got to see the big renovation reveal on the HGTV show that was playing in the waiting room. I assume it went from shack to spectacular. It usually does.

I went back into the little room and went through the regular routine. The nurse asks a bunch of questions and then the doctor comes in and asks the same questions. Can we cut out the middlewoman next time? He decided he needed more information before he moved my arm around willy-nilly.

The nurse came back and took me to another room. It was time to pose for X-rays. She said, “Turn slightly this way. That’s it,” and “Now, I need a three-quarter turn. Perfect.” I said, “I used to model.” She believed me. Had she inquired further, I would have told her I was J.C. Penney’s Husky Boy jeans model in the mid-to-late ’80s. It wouldn’t have been true, but I like to keep myself amused.

After the doctor examined the X-rays, he came back. I am assuming he put his hand to his chin and said, “Hmmm” several times before returning to me.

The doctor told me I probably sprained my AC joint. I didn’t even know my joints were alphabetized. Don’t ask me where the B went. He talked to me about my clavicle, and I told him I never played. It turns out the clavicle is a bone and not a woodwind instrument. I was pretty sure I heard someone play the clavicle at Heinz Hall, but I must have been mistaken. It’s a fancy word for collarbone, but you guys probably already knew that. You’re smart like that.

He said, “OK. Take two extra-strength Tylenol several times a day.”

Wait. What? No prescriptions? I thought I deserved medication and not just some over-the-counter crap. I bet I would have gotten meds if I went to the emergency room.