bedside manner

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The last time I saw my shoulder's surgeon, I was a few days post-op. He saw me carrying my phone with my slinged arm, and he yelled at me. That was too much weight. He'd cautioned me previously that my surgery had a very high failure rate, as high as 60%, and he was most displeased. You can imagine our mutual pessimism when three weeks later, someone collided with my car head-on, totaling both cars. "I wonder what my odds are now?" I thought while still underneath my deployed airbag.

Progress in PT has been slow but steady, and I now have almost my full range of motion back. When I saw my surgeon last week and lifted my arm, the man could not hide his surprise. "Your progress's really superb," he said more than once. This was good to hear, but clearly, he'd already placed me in his loss column. Might want to work on that poker face, doc.