Wednesday was Veteran's Day so the schools here were closed. Briefcase was away on a business trip, and my son was home. Despite the holiday, I had a few things booked for the day.
There was no escaping my first appointment so I went off for a visit with my orthopedic surgeon. It was a pretty easy appointment. Nothing exciting happened except I managed to talk the doc out of a painful injection and into giving me a three month break from appointments with him.
Three months baby!
That's big news!
I might have lied a little bit about my progress to gain my freedom, but really only a little bit and it surely counts as a, sort of, white-ish lie.
(Of course, I'm going to see him this Friday when he takes my son's surgical stitches out. No doubt, he will insist on moving my arm around at the same time which just goes to prove there really is no escaping the man.)
My wheels were already turning regarding possibilities for evading physical therapy for the day. Those of you who have been hanging around 24 for a long time know The Torturer and I do not have a normal physical therapist/patient relationship. We've known each other for nearly 15 years. He's been with me almost daily since my car accident three and a half years ago. We can be the best of friends at times and drive each other bat shit crazy at others.
It's a tumultuous relationship, I suppose.
The Torturer had been coming down with a cold earlier this week and since men are such babies I knew he needed rest, I was hoping he'd call in sick.
If The Torturer is not at PT, I (almost) always find a way to get out of my appointments. I don't dare play hooky if he's there because the man has me tagged with GPS or something. He finds me and brings me back to PT himself.
I had to drive past the PT building on my way home from the doctor. I could see, as I drove by, The Torturer's car was not parked in it's usual allotted spot.
I went home and dialed the phone number for PT.
The office manager answered.
Damn! She's like The Torturer's own private bulldog. It would have been so much easier if the receptionist had answered the phone.
"Ohhhhhhh!" I moaned into the receiver.
"What's wrong?" she exclaimed, immediately concerned.
"I saw the doctor this morning and he really, really, hurt me. I'm calling to ask The Torturer if I can skip today's appointment so I can recover," I said in my most pathetic voice.
"Oh! He called in sick this morning. We were going to put you with a different therapist. I don't know what to do since The Torturer isn't here to ask," she replied, worried.
"He's sick?" I asked, feigning surprise. "I'm sure he'd want me to just take it easy today," I informed her. (Thinking at the same time that there is no way in hell The Torturer would ever in a million years want me to take it easy.)
There was a pause.
"I'm sure you're right and he'd want you to rest," she finally sighed.
"Um, do you think he'll be back tomorrow?" I asked already planning to take the rest of the week off.
A moment later I was off the phone and rejoicing at my cleverness!
I am so, so, clever! Yay for me!
I felt like a 10 year old escaping to ditch my first class. Not that I ever was truant … not at age ten, anyway. (I had quite a lot of experience with truancy through my teen years.)
I had a few projects around the house needing my attention so I got busy. Important projects like hanging out on Twitter doing laundry, fighting with a troll (an annoying negative person who intentionally bugs Internet writers in an idiotic attempt to gain their attention), dusting baking banana bread, and drooling over camera websites doing important research.
A couple hours went by before I realized how odd it was that the usual buzzing of my phone had not distracted me. With a start, I remembered I had put it on "silent mode" while at the doctor's and forgotten to take it off.
I glanced at my messages.
There was an urgent text message from The Torturer informing me he would be out sick, but that he fully expected me to keep my appointment. He was quite emphatic. Lots of explanation points and everything.
There was also, ahem, a few missed calls from The Torturer.
I'm sure he thinks I intentionally avoided his calls.
A part of me smiled at the pain-free, relaxing, morning I'd just had. A part of me cringed in anticipation of what will surely be a very volatile reunion when The Torturer finally does wring my neck catch up to me again.
He will … express frustration … with me.
I listened to the final message on voice-mail. It was one of the therapists at PT assertively informing me The Torturer wanted me at PT … and why wasn't I there? The message went on, and on, and on, and on. I hit delete and sighed.
Later in the day I got a phone call from The Torturer's bulldog office manager, informing me he would be out sick the remainder of the week. She had explicit orders for me which included insisting I show up for an appointment or two with a different therapist.
Fine. I give up. I surrender.
I had to have the last word, of course. Last night I sent an email to The Torturer and this is what it said:
I hope you're feeling better and have a nice few days off. I want you to know I feel TOTALLY coerced into showing up to PT the next few days and it's entirely your fault! Coercion is not a good thing!! "Therapist" and "Office Manager" both called me at home – you're PRESSURING me! I really don't think it would hurt for me to have a couple days off now and then when you do.
Just sayin' …
Grumble, grumble, bitch, whine.
PS I can tell you really miss me and are enjoying finally hearing from me with this email.
PPS I think you will have complete and total withdrawals from not seeing me within twenty four hours. You'll be sorry for your meanness then!
PPPS I don't think it can be very good for you to be threatening me worrying about me while you're sick. Go to sleep. Drink orange juice!
PPPPS There's no reason for me to get "special treatment" and phone calls from your staff. What did I ever do to deserve this? I'm a model patient. You're a bully!
I haven't heard back from The Torturer yet. However, I imagine the minute I hit "publish" on this post, I will. He's funny like that.
© Twenty Four At Heart