Finding the Humer

I broke my humerus. And my MRI tech is named Histerio.

You can't make this **** up!

   And speaking of funny, how is it that I am so ridiculously transparent (and I don't mean just on x-rays)? Michael was fitting me for my "Slingshot2" brace to immobilize my arm, and I was inquiring about the rules of engagement. I must have had quite an expression when he said I had to wear it all the time, even driving and sleeping—only removing it to shower and change clothes.
   He stepped back and said, "You don't take direction well, do you?" He smirked. "Do I have to write you a prescription to REMIND you that you AREN'T ALLOWED to take this off?!"
   Now, I have no intention of fooling around with this. I don't want surgery. But I'd bet that he was onto me because Dr. Rasmussen gets a lot of people like me in his office: highly active, frustrated to be slowed down, and impatient to regain normal activity. (My unscientific evidence is all the hot young athletes in the waiting room. Note to self: dress up for follow-up appointment next week.)

I've heard some funny comments this week. My favorites:

   "Whoa...that's not very humorous!" — Gibbens (who was with me when it happened, and ought to have saved me or something, right? Not a very good chaperone.)

"Humerus? (Laughs) That's PERFECT!" — Madeline

"Got a bad wing, eh?" — Crown Room employee

"Immobile for 6 weeks? You are going to go insane!" — Rich

"Boo. Great name for a body part, tho." — Trish

"Hey, it's Lefty!"   — Fellow bus rider, on day two

"It was worth it, wasn't it?"  — More people than I can count