Overall, not a bad weekend, aside from the fact that our floor was having a special on Code Browns. Little confused old people and poop do not mix. You're bound to walk in to some serious finger-painting.
People are just gross.
I came home and checked the mail that came in on Saturday. I found a letter from 98.1 KUDL. I don't listen to this station (Delilah makes me want to drown in my own vomit), so I wondered what it could possibly be. Inside, I found a gift card with a note. On my last outing with Indy, KUDL was there for part of a Sex and the City promotion. They were handing out free key chains and crap, and they had some drawings you could sign up for. Indy and I both filled out entries. I didn't know what the prizes were, but it never hurts when something is free. If it doesn't even interest you, you can always re-gift it.
Apparently, my name was drawn for $100 gift card to my most favorite restaurant. I did a little gimpy dance in the kitchen. Then, I called Indy to gloat. He was happy for my good fortune, and stated that he was also pleased that he could help me win.
Aside from the fact that was his not-so-subtle hint at also reaping the rewards of the much celebrated gift card, I was puzzled as to how he helped. While he did give me an entry form to fill out, he didn't pay for my meal. He didn't pick me up. And he managed to piss me off at the end of the night.
"Okay," I said. "I'll treat you to dinner sometime, but you will be required to put out."
I know he'll do just about anything for fish tacos and a Long Island Iced Tea. I might actually have a chance this time.
(So, Dan, while he may have gotten the porn flick, I got the $100 gift card. And in the end, I think I made out better.)
I'm pretty happy with the gift card. Hell, I'm just happy I actually won something. I haven't won anything since I won a bicycle when I was 9.
The knee pain has gotten worse, it's depressing. I can't even do a routine trip to the grocery store without having to ice my knee down upon returning home. To make things even better, I'm going with zero pain meds, save for the ibuprofen I take. Which is the equivalent of pissing on a California forest fire. It just doesn't work.
So, I had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon this afternoon. I called last month and this Monday was the best they could do. This is standard for specialists, especially orthopedics. You call needing an appointment for Right Now!, and Right Now! to them is about a month later. Hurry up and wait. It's the name of the medical game.
I went to my appointment, had a series of x-rays, and got to meet with my new ortho doc. I have an MRI scheduled, but he tossed out an idea of having another reconstructive surgery, to the tune of tibial osteotomy. Recovery time...three months. One month would be non-weight bearing on that leg.
Oh. Hell. No.
I told him I'd like to avoid such a procedure (because death sounds better), so for now, we'll do the MRI, probably a scope, and then go from there. Ugh. Ideally, I'd like something to do the greatest amount of good, with the least amount of recovery time. Three months does not work for me. The last time I had that kind of recovery time, I ended up depressed, crying at random country songs on the radio. And telephone commercials.
Plus there was also that issue with constipation...