Dave's Not a Doctor . . . and He Could Never Play One on TV

I survived my visit to the sports doctor (Dr. Navia) and my prediction was half correct: after some poking, probing, and prodding, she decided to give me a cortisone shot but said there was NOT enough fluid to warrant draining the knee (hooray!) and I'm getting some x-rays tomorrow and going for a follow-up in September, to see if I need the hyaluronic acid shots—but for now, I need to ice and rest, and hopefully the cortisone will do the trick (and I could never play a doctor on TV because I couldn't even look at the tray with the needles on it, let alone the actual needle going into my knee—this is why I don't watch The Pitt . . and I was already stressed out by the time Dr. Nadia got to me because I was reading the end of the excellent new Tana French novel, The Keeper—book three in the Ardnakelty trilogy—and some bad, rather visceral medical shit was going down . . . next time I go to the doctor, I'll be sure to read something lighter while I wait).