I had my stitches and my heart removed

One physically, one symbolically.

I was hoping that the doctor who performed my surgery was going to let me begin my recovery at my pace come today, which is what he did last time. Last time after I waited a week “post-surgery,” the doctor gave me the green light to start out on the stationary bike and work towards more physical activity as I saw fit. I saw no reason why he would not give me the same directions this time, so I had foreseen today as my last day as being incapacitated.

Sadly, he removed my stitches and told me to get on the stationary bike. “Wait, Mark, isn’t that what he said last time?” Yes, it is! I wasn’t sad at that point; in fact, everything was going according to plan. Now, Dr. Schmidt, say those magic words. Say “Recover at your own pace.” Say it. Say. It.

“Alright Mark, stationary bike for a week, then up the resistance for a week.” What?

“Then begin weight training to strengthen your knee, it needs to regain muscle. So start working out in about three weeks.” WHAT?

“You can return to normal physical activity in four weeks.” (jaw literally on the floor)

Wait, Doc(tor), what about running? When can I start running again?

“I’d wait for four weeks. We don’t want to undone what we’ve worked so hard to do here.”

So, I killed him. I shanked my doctor with a sharpened toothbrush. His fault.

I left his dead body in the room behind me, and walked out into the lobby, distraught. I thought today was the day I could start running. Maybe a week? Oh, 28 days from now? THAT MAKES NO SENSE.

All the doc(tor) did in my surgery was remove a piece of bone that wasn’t attached to anything, just floating around. If there was a tennis ball in a bathtub full of water, and you removed the tennis ball, would you tell your family not to use the tub for five weeks? NO.

Is my knee the same as a bathtub? No, not really, but that’s besides the point. I’m sad. This isn’t fair.

I know, “Mark, it’s just a knee. The rest of your body is healthy. It’s one month. You live an extremely blessed life. Your parents could afford to give you surgery. You were treated by the best doctors in the city. You have amazing access to great rehab facilities, and all the time in the world because you live a comfortable, easy life. Stop complaining.”

I don’t know who typed that ^^^, but they’re starting to get on my nerves.

Does someone else have my wordpress account info? Who’s typing that? Guys?

I had my stitches and my heart removed

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