Taking Matters Into My Own Hands

So, as we all know, I broke my foot exactly two months ago today and have been hanging out in Kansas with the parental units ever since as it's very hard for me to get around in my apartment by my self on one foot (longest. sentence.ever.). Three days ago, I called the local Express Care/Minor Med place to see if they had the capability of x-raying my foot to make sure it's healed and then taking off my cast. They assured me they did and that the doctor who took care of such things was only in the clinic on certain days of the week, today being one of those days. So, this morning at approximately 11:30 am, Dad and I drove to the clinic, checked in, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Wait. Ed. Lots of waiting going on here. Oh, and did I mention that there was this mother and grandmother with three extremely obnoxious, highly energetic, and LOUD children waiting about five feet away from us the whole time? I mean, I love kids. I really, really do. So if I think a kid is annoying, you probably don't want to be in the room with him. Let alone three of them. Approximately two hours later, I was called to the back and x-rayed. Shortly after that, the doctor came in and told me it looked like my foot was healed and they would be coming back with a cast-cutter shortly. WOOOOOO!!! I was PUMPED!!! So I did some more waiting. Wait, wait, waiting. And then I waited some more. And finally, the doctor came back and said "Well, I'm really sorry, but we don't seem to have a cast cutter after all." Um, excuse me? I just WAITED FOR 2.5 HOURS SO THAT YOU COULD NOT CUT THE CAST OFF MY FOOT?! Yes, that was pretty much the gist of it. But they would be happy to refer me to an orthopedic person in town, but good luck getting in this week. But we'll be back with that referral. And then came--you guessed it--some more waiting. About another thirty-minute's worth. For a crap piece of paper I wasn't going to use. Because you know what? I had decided to cut the damn thing off myself. Which is exactly what I did. I came home fuming, grabbed a pair of scissors and some pruning shears, enlisted the help of my parents (who were not so sure we should be commencing with the medical procedures without a license but quickly acquiesced when they saw the level of my anger), and about 15 minutes later... my foot, along with my by-now-extremely-hairy-leg, was free!! FREE!!!! Two months of rolling around on a knee scooter? Over! Having a really terrible itch that I can't scratch because it's covered by my cast? Finished! Done! Goodbye! See ya, cast!

What have we learned today, boys and girls? That with a little will-power, anything is possible.