I went for my second of three knee injections today. I get them at the Dean Orthopedic Center on the Beltline in Madison.
It's a nice place. Fairly new, from what I gather. And the three times I've been there (one consultation and two pokes), I've been in an exam room with enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows. As such, I am careful to wear pants I can hike above my knee because showing my bare ass to all of that traffic seems like a bad idea.
But I digress.
It's not the exam rooms that are my favorite part of this clinic. It's the waiting room.
Everyone is visibly maimed.
It's very different from a visit to your general practitioner. You often can't tell what's wrong with the people there. Maybe they need a sports physical for school. Or they have a sinus infection. Or a heart condition. Or diabetes. Or an ingrown toenail. Or kidney stone.
The point is you usually can't tell by looking at them what has brought them to this place.
But at the equivalent of an orthopedic amusement park, every ailment is easily identifiable.
There's a cast or a splint or crutches. A sling or a limp or a wheelchair. And the more people coming and going, the funnier it is.
It's not funny that they are hurting. It's just darn funny to watch the almost orchestrated way they check in, find a seat, move to the exam rooms and finally exit. Like some wounded Virginia Reel.
Or, like Zombies in a Michael Jackson video.
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