Totally Unauthorized

A side of the film industry most people never see.

Wait, it’s a what, now?

So much for that ‘homestretch’ idea.

Last week, in a fit of frustration at the slow speed of my recovery, the doctor shot my foot full of cortisone, which helped a little but didn’t completely get rid of the pain.

Today, I went in expecting to get another heavy sigh followed by a shot,  but instead was told that I’ve got Sesamoiditis, which I’d been mistaking for garden variety surgery-related lingering pain.

It’s especially bad since the treatment for the various types of -itis is rest, ice and physical therapy, and I’ve used up all my physical therapy sessions (16 per year, buddy. You better heal fast).

The nice folks at the motion picture health plan are notorious for refusing requests for PT extensions – which means I have to work something out because I’d love to get this crap healed so I can get the fuck back to work. Keep your fingers crossed that they’ll take pity on me and grant the extension, as paying out of pocket for physical therapy sessions is completely out of the question.  I can easily afford the ice, though.

At least I’ve got an answer now, although it’s not the one I wanted.  What I really wanted was an answer which would have resulted in my returning to work by the end of the week.  As I sit here festering in my recliner, best boys all over town are forgetting that I exist and my name drops lower and lower on the list of people who are available to come in and work. Needless to say, I am not happy at the moment.

On a completely unrelated note, the Blogger Prom was a blast.  Plates of high-fat munchies, copious amounts of free booze (I exercised a modicum of uncharacteristic restraint and only had two glasses of wine all night), good fun and good company. I did end up jumping in the swimming pool, and managed to swim for about 10 minutes before being politely asked to get out by a very worried looking security guard.

Although the dress and other accessories can be disposed of at the local thrift shops from whence they came, I do now have a frosted mullet rocker wig that no one will take. If you want it, let me know.

It’s truly horrible, but in a good way and I’d hate to just pitch in in the trash if there’s someone out there who can put it to some sort of evil use.

Filed under: life in LA, Non-Work

One Response

  1. Craig says:

    Ouch. Tendon injuries completely suck, particularly
    when they affect your source of income. Here’s to
    hoping you get the treatment you need.

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