Physical Therapy

A few months ago I hurt my back and a never ending quest for well being began its course. As usual I had to play the beaner card in order to get am MRI at Virginia-Mason, since their constant denial in providing health care has become somewhat routine. I eventually landed at the spine clinic at their hospital, in downtown Seattle where I was seen by some Dr named Antoine. Seriously, who would name their kid Antoine? I mean, if a fortune teller told me he would become a Musketeer or a Broadway Ave Drag, then maybe. Anyway, he asked me 3 questions and then kept billing me, over and over again, even after my insurance covered the bill (not even that do they know how to do). So I ended up going to Physical Therapy at a small place inside a gym inside a downtown building. Apparently my L4 is in bad shape and therefore I go once a week.
I feel much better now. They have me roll and turn and slide over these huge red, green and blue plastic balls like an illegal immigrant contortionist trying to sell a weight loss potion at the local county fair, this behind window panes, like a Panda bear. So now I have a quorum and on Sundays they even throw peanuts at me. I just can't get used to seeing my butt rolling on a huge blue ball in closed circuit.