The cold doctor's office feels like a jail cell; a single-bed-like apparatus locates to the left of where I sit; a sink to my right. Turn the chair I'm on into a toilet and I'll be gripping my soap a little tighter if you pick up what I'm putting down. I'll give you a hint, it's not the soap. Did I mention that this room is cold as hell?
The doctor's footstep approaches the shut door to my cell. He pauses to look at my file before letting himself in.
"Ok buddy," he starts, "I got some good news. Item number one; your back is fine. Here's a letter for you to get an MRI on a bone scan for your leg instead. My prediction is it's your sciatic nerve, which can be treated much easier than a back injury. Item number two; the blood that was found on your little friend there is nothing sexually transmitted. It's just a tear; like if you got a paper cut on your finger. Now let me have a quick look and you're all done."
I undo my jeans in front of my audience of a doctor and the cold unforgiving furniture and expose the wound south of the border. "It's really cold in here huh?"
"um not really pal." he replies as he inspects.
Asshole. "Well I'm going to go to the gym after to pump some iron. Then I'm going hunting just for sport and if I have some time later I'm going to--, do you want to go to a warmer room while we do this? It’s just that--"
"Hey," he says softly taking my hand and looking me in the eye, which is quite uncomfortable when my pants are down. "I'm your doctor. You don't have to prove anything to be, ok? Now zip it up. We're done. Just no activities for a few weeks ok?"
"Thanks, doc." I said, and gangsta limped myself outta there.
Do you find yourself wasting your breathe trying to prove something to people who you never really had to answer to in the first place? Like an ex-girlfriend that could care less about you now or some gang members who never will? Or maybe it's a doctor that never really questioned you to begin with? Let's save this energy for something positive. Yeah?
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