The podiatrist who’s writing my short term disability letters asked me if I was sleeping when I said I’m tired all the time. Are you putting me on, sir? Are you not aware, as a doctor of one of the most abused parts of the human body, that being in constant pain and fronting like I’m not in it so I can get shit done is exhausting? Surely you must know, having all that [one previous case] experience with CRPS.
But I said, “No. Aside from CRPS I already have cyclic insomnia. Pain and medication side effects make it worse and harder to deal with.” He looked at me with these part sympathetic, part pitying dumb-puppy country doctor eyes, and said, “There are doctors for that, and sleep labs.” Further, he said there’s nothing he can do aside from prescribe physical therapy and numbing cream. It took all of my spare energy to stay calm. I want to know what some medical professionals get out of being condescending, or dismissive of their patients’ ideas about their own care.
Fortunately, the acquisition of a progressive orthopaedic surgeon, Dr Silverman, to my care team went well. The first meeting was fantastic, if a bit disjointed (from his side) and hysterical (from my side). A fact-finding mission begins in T minus five days, the completion of which will likely provide me with a feeling of vindication bordering on majestic. He agrees with my thoughts on faulty mechanics, and intends to fix them should they prove to exist.
Oh, to not
hear another person “fake” chastise me for not using my crutches
hear “You’re walking so well!” ever again
hear another random stranger’s intrusive questions and nostalgic commentary about how they, too, hurt something once and used crutches or a walking boot for thirty seconds but are now totally healed
hear one more admonishment about how people mean well when they make jokes or rude comments about my injury and why don’t I cater to their feelings
would be too excellent, something like a whiskey cocktail or few would be at this moment.
A Vague & Menacing Agency 
Whatcha say?