The pain resulting from being... involuntarily removed... from a horse was so surprisingly severe and thorough that on Monday (after work) I actually went to visit a doctor. Yes, yes, your gasps are worthy. As you may know, visiting a doctor is on my list of favorite things to do right up there with paying retail for dry cleaning, handing my car keys over to a mechanic, carving pineapple, visiting a hair salon, being rendered blind and trapped at the mall, or having my hair dyed fluorescent at the roots.
Fortunately, the doctor seemed worthy and sympathetic enough to my condition. She told me, in her opinion, that I'd likely live. She then prescribed me a bushel of meds and said I'd be good as new after the pain subsided IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS!
Clearly, I do not possess the patience that proper healing will require.
Anyhow, I dutifully hobbled over to the pharmacy and filled my scripts. It turns out that instead of inducing narcotic bliss, the "night time" meds prescribed to me make me feel all woozy, and still very much in pain, while the "daytime" pills make me feel over-caffeinated, and still very much in pain. Ah, the wonders of modern medicine.
"Thank you, doctor."
"Oh, I'm not a doctor."