Why I Bought a Gun

Look what came in the mail yesterday:

A printout from About.com regarding Balance Training and Proprioreception. The parts about improving balance and preventing injury are highlighted, and there's a handwritten note on the bottom that says "Retrain proprioreception so you don't re-sprain."

Page two is a photocopy of some specific, handwritten physical-therapy exercises:

With blanks before the word "foot," where the words "right" or "left" have been filled in by the same hand. There's a post-it stuck there, too -- one from a drug company, so this is obviously a medical person of some sort or another -- that says "Start these once you can weight bear comfortably on the right foot. Good luck!"

I, personally, would have hyphenated the words "weight" and "bear"-- or else I'd have reversed them. Because I'm not exactly sure how one might weight a bear. Especially if one was limited to one's right foot.

But I shouldn't be linguistically spanking, because this is very nice, right? Someone out there -- someone with medical skill and knowledge -- heard that I had hurt myself again, and they took steps to ensure I didn't sprain my other, third ankle for lack of proprioreception.

But the note's not signed, and have a gander at the envelope it came in:

In case you can't decipher my bold-faced scribbles in that shot, they read: No return address! My name and address, handwritten! USPS bar code stuff across the bottom! But the stamp's not cancelled!

And I don't recognize the handwriting, so: Yeesh!

I think I have a stalker-doctor.

All kidding aside, this is very thoughtful. I mean, assuming they're not secret how-to-hurt-yourself routines or anything. Which I doubt. Though, now that I've thought about it, I don't think I'll do them, just in case. But if someone out there saw that picture I posted of my bruised and swollen ankle and thought to send along some inside poop, that's very kind. And I do understand why you might not want to include a return address or sign your name. After all, you wouldn't want anonymous PT exercises showing up in your mailbox, now, would you?

But...

The next time you secretly offer of yourself to others, might you provide a smidge more information? Some indication, at least, as to how you know me? Maybe how you know I hurt myself? And perhaps where the hell you got my street address? Because, seriously, this shit's creeping me out.

Then again, maybe I should consider myself lucky. Maybe I should think of it as a plus. The health care system being what it is these days, it's not everybody who can post a picture of a swollen body part and get advice delivered to their very door.

Okay, then, Stalker-Doctor:

What have you got for my swollen ass?


PS That gun is big (just like my ass), and locked and loaded (ditto). There's also an English Mastiff with a taste for blood, an alarm system with trip lasers everywhere, and a Samoan security guard whom I affectionately refer to as The Hurt. Also, invisible forcefield.

So don't mess.