Previously I sounded like such a nice person, didn't I?
But then I tore off the mask and revealed my true nature, quibbling about punctuation.
Maddy is in fact a nice person, but she is also an Occupational Therapist, the equivalent of a drill sergeant.
She doesn't shout for me to drop and give her twenty when we pass each other in the hallway, but I fear that today she's going to be so pleased with my progress that she's going to give me a heavier weight to wave with my good left arm.
But Maddy's regimen works--my left forearm has lost most of the more outrageous atrophy wrinkles from two months of idleness. There's even a faint outward bulge at my left elbow, quite the opposite of the inward curve on my withered right forearm.
However, I won't inflict more niggling corrections about utterly trivial punctuation--everyone here writes perfectly legible posts, so there's no need to fuss about our friend the hyphen, no matter how much the degenerate freshman English teacher in me enjoys it.
I hear noises that suggest breakfast is about to appear, followed by Matt the Physical Therapist, who is a good fellow, despite his habit of pulling my ankle toward my rump until I cry uncle and then holding the ankle in that painful position for 30 seconds. Unlike fussing about inconsequential punctuation, this is probably good for me.
Just as Maddy can't wait to try the fiendish arm splint, Matt is eager to get me face-down on the hospital bed so he can, as he puts it, really lean on my bent legs.
