By Monday afternoon, he had been examined by a doctor, most likely a team of doctors, had had an MRI performed, had the MRI analyzed by the team of doctors, which had conferred on the logical course of surgery and treatment that would be most successful, undoubtedly with the Cowboys’ owners and management involved, and had the surgery scheduled, and held a press conference to announce the results, all within 24-hours. Surgery was performed on the morning of 27 December. The whole procedure took five days from injury to solution.
Medical service, if I’m not being too cynical, is performed not in order of need, nor on priority, nor importance, but on the ability of the patient to pay. The more he can pay, the greater the need for treatment. I don’t begrudge Romo the ability to receive treatment, but having his entire diagnostic process completed within 24-hours, while I’ve been a bit over three months waiting for a meeting with an orthopedic doctor to discuss my mother’s diabetes and how well I pee, and what my psychological state is after sitting on my gluteus maximum for three months, can‘t help but leave me a little p-ssed. The first hurdle was finding a doctor that would accept Medicare. Since Medicare doesn’t operate on the same free-will capitalism that controls Wall Street, an ever increasing number of doctors refuse treatment to patients that don’t help them keep up with the Bernie Madoff’s of the world. No, I’m not being imaginative. I was told that by someone I was complaining to at the hospital. Some apparently feel slighted because they’re not in line to get a piece of that $91-billion package set aside for end-of-year bonuses to Wall Street executives. The worst part of my physical ailment is that it’s apparently not worth $18-million.
Well, I just completed my 13-page questionnaire in preparation for my interview with the doctor tomorrow, as I got angrier with each page. They even asked what I expect to accomplish with my visit. Hello!! Like if my life may resume, or if I’m to spend much of the rest of it in traction, or if I need surgery, and all of that leading to whether or not I can get back to paddling and living an active lifestyle. The sad part is what I expect to accomplish. After cancelling a trip, waiting three months, doing the paperwork, calling ahead for pre-approval of insurance, and driving 200 miles, I honestly EXPECT that I will accomplish nothing. I’m totally open to surprises, but disappointment won’t be one of them. Come on! Surprise me!