A brilliant point of light

So yesterday I head downtown – again – to grace Dr. Merkhottie with my presence. It’s been 6 whole weeks since he’s seen me, the poor man. I’m not sure how he consoles himself, without his star patient (me) in evidence. The world weeps with him, I’m sure.

Anyway, I get there and an ushered in, and then they take more x-rays. Great, I think. More radiation, just what I need. Then I wait mere seconds until Dr. Merkhottie comes in, and we gaze at the x-rays that expose his brilliant handiwork to the world. I can sense the admiration in his eyes, probably due to my obvious athletic prowess and extraordinary healing ability. Well, at least I’m pretty sure it’s admiration. Not fear or anything. Admiration.

Our subsequent conversation goes as follows – and please note that I don’t even have to add the relevant subtext, as I usually do, since it’s soooo obvious what he's really thinking.

Dr. Merkhottie: “Okay, well, everything looks like it’s healing really well. The bone is filling in, and that one shard that we left, that looks fine too.”
Me, modestly: “Thank you....”
Dr. M.: “And you’re still seeing your other doctors? Dr. Jeruss.....”
Me: “No, I haven’t seen her in a while, just the radiation people.”
Dr. M., clearly outraged on my behalf: “Oh, so they just get done with you and that’s it?”
Me, sadly: “Yes, they just pass me along like a bad penny.”
Dr. M.: “So I’m the only one you see on a regular basis – I’m not sure if that’s good or bad....”
Me, leaping in: “Oh, trust me, it’s GREAT,” I enthuse. “Umm, purely from the standpoint of having some continuity,” I add, weakly.
Dr. M.: “Oh, of course. So the form from Erica says that you’re anxious to return to hockey. Is that true?”
Me: “Well, you know how it is – the team is really kind of stuck without me, their enforcer. Oh sure, they’re apparently in first place, halfway through the season, but how long will THAT last?”

Dr. M. nods sagely, or maybe it’s a twitch.

Me, continuing: “But while I’m a little crazy, I’m not a total idiot, and since I play with clumsy and oafish guys who often don’t know how to stop, I wasn’t going to jump back into games anytime soon. I figured I’d start out with some clinics or open skates.”
Dr. M., clearly alarmed at the very thought of my perfect collarbone being roughed up by hamhanded hockey players: “Okay then....you can get out there and whack the puck around on the ice. But no physical contact of any kind!”
Me, batting my eyes innocently: “Oh, perish the thought!”

So I think there’s a game Friday night that I can hop in on. Hmm. No, seriously, while it’ll kill my team, as it’s done so far judging by their pathetic record (I’m sure the first place thing is a fluke), I’ll wait the (sigh) requisite 6 months after surgery to get back on the ice. The hockey nation weeps.

Now, it’s evident the esteem in which Dr. Merkhottie holds me – I mean, just because some things are unsaid, they’re still pretty obvious. I do wonder, though, why every time I see him he has a couple of people trailing into the room after him, like puppies, these lowly “interns” or “residents.” But I think that’s pretty transparent too - clearly he just wants as many people as possible to meet the star on his roster of patients. What else could it be?