No, that's not right. I've got bone spurs, again, in a different shoulder. The other shoulder.
Whatever. I'm in too much fucking pain to be coherent. Or to spell, apparently. This fucking spell check keeps getting sassy with me.
I've got a medical appointment with my doctor for June 14, with is approximately an eternity from now, but I'm fairly certain I will be given insufficient pain meds, if I get given any pain meds at all, because that's how Arkansas is with pain drugs these days.
I know, from the last time this happened, that after I have surgery, the pain will, after the six or seven weeks of healing it takes, go away. So -- what are we talking? Two weeks to the appointment, a month or two for the requisite tests, a month or two to schedule the surgery, about two months to recover...
Yeah. An eternity of this.
Then I'll be fine.
I actually was doing all right until this afternoon -- I was planning to hold out until January, when our medical savings kicked over. But I was shutting the door of the car to come home and turned my arm funny and OH MY CHRIST, I don't know what I did, but something popped and tore in my shoulder and so much for that plan.
In case I haven't mentioned it lately, let me remind you: I hate American health care.