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Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the Columnists.com, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
Humorists.com
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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Dem Crazy Bones...
 


Dem Bones, Dem Bones, Dem Crazy Bones

You know when your doctor refers you to an orthopedic surgeon it is only for one thing. I must have been mentally blocking out the word.
 
I put it off as long as I could but my arm and neck were hurting, and so I finally relented and made the appointment.  "You need to see the arm specialist," said the appointment clerk, who apparently had a medical degree. "Your doctor only does necks and backs."
 
"I think the pain is coming from my neck," I said, and then I played my trump, "I was referred to him by my medical doctor."
 
I guess she didn't want to match her degree against that of a real doctor, so she made the appointment. When I arrived, however, it was a doctor's assistant who saw me. After questions, x-rays, and tapping my joints with a rubber mallet, she decided that I needed an MRI before seeing the real doctor.
 
I call an MRI the chamber of horrors. Needless to say, I've been in that machine before. I went to the appointment and dutifully allowed the technician to zap me like a wiener in the microwave.
 
The doctor's office didn't call me back, which was a good excuse not to follow up. Eventually, however, pain again drove me to make an appointment. Maybe this time I would actually see a doctor. The nurse came in and pulled up my MRI on the screen of a monitor. I waited for an eternity and finally the elusive orthopedist appeared.
 
He went straight to the monitor with the MRI like a moth to the light. Then he proceeded to explain what was wrong, sparing no details. I felt a little dizzy as he pointed out my all too obvious bone deficiencies and explained all the screws, saws, plates and bolts it would require to fix me.
 
"You don't have any choice, you have to have surgery."  Oh, yeah, and you might have to chain me to the operating table, I thought. "Your neck is about as bad as it can get."
 
He went on and on telling me about the danger of operating so close to my spinal cord and what might happen without surgery. Even though the nurse had her back toward me as she took notes, I could see her cringe. I wonder if anyone ever fainted before or if I would be the first.
 
I really didn't want to know what he was going to do it or how he was going to do.  When I fly on an airplane, I do not want to know how high we are going to fly, what our speed will be, or what we are flying over. I just want to know that we will end up landing safely in the city printed on the ticket.
 
He went on to tell me that it would actually require two operations to fix me, one from the back and one from the front. I imagined him flipping me over on the operating table like a pancake. He explained how he had been in practice for over 20 years. In fact, he had written papers and taught this procedure to medical students.
 
"That's good." I said. Really, really good, I thought.
 
"The hard part will be getting your insurance to approve it." He then told me about another patient whose insurance would not approve surgery until he finally showed up in the emergency room unable to walk. I didn't want to hear that either.
 
"How long will I be in the hospital?" I asked.
 
"Three days."
 
He is going to cut off my head and reattach it and I will be in the hospital only three days?  Well, maybe it will not be so bad after all. I just hope it gets it back on frontwards.

 


Copyright 2014 Sheila Moss
 
 



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