hehehe...undetected, I'll seize the moment to work on my letter...
Dear Health Insurance Man,
I am totally amazed that your dorky, pencil-necked dweeby self, seated comfortably behind a desk in a far away place, knows more than my surgeon in regard to what is good for me!
Two weeks ago I went in for a check-up and was very candid about my troubling Achilles. With no improvement for well over a month, my imagination races and sees a damaged, frayed tendon or a huge air pocket prohibiting proper attachment to the heel bone.
"Did you ever see a professional physical therapist?" asked my surgeon as his assistant pecked on her computer taking diligent notes.
"Um...er...well..." I babbled while nervously glancing around the room. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that question," I added, secretly hoping he would move on to another topic.
"Well, did you?" my unrelenting surgeon asked, forcing the issue.
"Did I? Um... Um...You mean did I go to a professional physical therapist? Let's see, " I stalled with dancing thoughts. "Why yes! Yes, I did!" I chortled triumphantly. Whew, that was close. (It wasn't a lie. He asked "Did I see" and I answered "Did I go.")
"How many times?" my surgeon continued the interrogation like a homicide detective.
"What? How many times?" I repeated the question while scrambling for an answer. He backed me into a corner and I sheepishly answered in a quiet voice, "Once. And, to be completely honest, she had called in sick and I never went back." There! I came clean and cleansed my soul.
A look of total disgust flashed across his face and I knew better than to tell him what kind of PT I had done since Moustache-style PT would have launched him into orbit.
My Achilles concerned him enough that he ordered a MRI on the tendon while handing me a tube of prescription anti-inflammatory cream and ordered, "Put this on 3 times a day."
Yea right! That might get smeared on once a month, if even that, said my inside voice while my outside voice replied, "Will do, thanks!"
So, Mr. Insurance Man, you now know the complete story and I am stunned that I received a letter from you yesterday denying the surgeon's request for a MRI! How 'bout we meet and afterwards, should you have smashed your nose into my knuckles, I'll deny you getting an X-ray?
I bet my surgeon knows best,
The Moustache
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