I'm Breaking Up With My Orthopedist

Way back in February I broke my ankle. You may remember the photo of the cast that attracted many an eastern European cast/braces fetishist to my site (thanks for the extra bucks my friends).

A physical therapist friend of mine recommended a terrific orthopedist to treat me. I loved him immediately. As the kid of a doc, I'm often hard to please when it comes to medical care, but he was personable and thorough and even cleaned my foot himself after it had stewed in a cast for six weeks.

Granted he missed a second break and a bunch of other soft tissue damage, but none of that was apparent on the x-ray. I still loved him.

His office staff is friendly. It's easy to get in to see him and you don't have to wait long in the waiting or exam room.

A virtual medical miracle.

But yesterday the love affair died.

Yesterday, at my three month check-up, we discussed some of my lingering pain and my continued inability to wear heels.

His answer?

You probably won't ever be able to wear heels again. The area of your injury is affected every time you put your foot at that angle.

*blink* *blink*

Clearly, he doesn't know that I consider Nordstrom's Shoe Department the mothership. Clearly, he hasn't seen my closet. Clearly, he doesn't understand how wearing a great pair of shoes can make you invincible.

Clearly he's not the doctor I thought he was.