Political Science is Not the Practice of Theory

James Gray Mason, September, 2015

"Political science. . . . I have a Ph.D. in political sciences!" Politics is a social studies area - people. Far from any standard of actual science. Calling it a science is about the egos of those who want to appear “expert,” as public validation for their thousands of hours of looking at a 5,000 piece jigsaw puzzle with 500 difficult to define pieces always missing from the table. It is filled with thousands of factors that can never be accounted for - that it why it is fascinating to many people. It really is a historical study of human behavior. It is not even theoretical. Factually; calling a study of this guessing game “Political Theory,” is a falsehood. Political analysis is filled with predictive analogy that is conceptual. The study of politics is dependent on using the documented past behavior  An opinion writer who loves politics is mostly guessing. An analyst who thinks he or she can predict the future behavior of complex and ever-changing societies would like to think that those missing 500 pieces are consistent and will remain so - but those missing pieces are changing shapes from one day to the next, and even their colors. Because thousands of environmental changes among millions of people can never be studied enough to make accurate predictions.

In my country, the United States, a well-written book by a political analyst from just 15 years ago might as well be blank pages. The worth of that very time and culturally dependent viewpoint is only valuable for seeing the mistakes of the predictions of that analyst. These books are, however, very valuable for studying the history from one point of view of a person who has invested thousands of hours in observation.

Just listen to the exclamations of nearly every political analyst right now when discussion of what the American Republican party is going through right now; “Who would have thought, just 4 months ago that the Republican party would look like this?” The agreement with that surprise is all around. Because one billionaire with a tremendous sense of self-worth decided to throw a wrench into the works a few months ago. A socio-politico who can embrace our always changing nature might have been able to predict Mr. Hairdoo’s rise to false populism. Not some professor who has spent thousands of hours reading about the documented behavior of past voting populations. Not theory - speculative conjecture in attempting to predict the outcome of a 100 horse race where nearly every horse was raised and trained at a different horse farm, with a different trainer and different jockeys and different track conditions.

If you are studying what we are calling Political Science (very egotistically) - you are a futurist. If your speculation now is proven to have been accurate in several years, your success is very much like the success of a Tarot Card reader or a psychic entertainer. You knew the minimal odds of being right. You bet on those odds toward the outcome of being successful more than 50% of the time. That slight edge made you successful in your predictions in the minds of those who followed your speculations and saw only your right answers - in the aftermath of the outcome. You'll continue to get paid for your predictions if you can bounce around to enough varied media outlets. It would be in your best interest to not revisit your mistakes publicly - you would lose readership and not be called back for your opinions very often. The exception in the United States is that you are a regular political commentator on Fox News.

Humble down “political scientists.” A theory is of an outcome that can be continuously validated as consistently accurate. Theory is fact as we validate it to be. Not speculation that is just more than 50% accurate, by some people and mostly wrong by most. Mathematics is theory as best as can it validated it to be by testing and retesting the physicality of those numbers when those theories are finally put to a practical test.

To us flawed humans even our mathematics can be wrong after much certainty we are right. Several brilliant masters of advanced algebra have been later proven to be wrong. The math looked great and was agreed to be so by many peers who practiced the same methodology on chalk-boards. Wrong! Whoops! Even our solid theories can be later proven to be mistaken.

It is grandiose and fictitious to call the study of politics “theory.” It is the egos of the experts who needed a language to allow colleges to charge tuition's for many classes that resulted in advanced educational degrees of all letters to be awarded for thousand of pupils to feel validated as also being expert - at a social studies field of futurist predictions.

I submit to you a hypothesis: Attempting to continuously make politics a theory as if a science exists within that study is prideful arrogance of intellectuals who don’t want their many opinions to be considered futile when their lives are nearing expiration. Now test that hypothesis. Go ahead. It’s already been done but out of respect for those who try to be accurate we say nothing. We keep reading them and listen to their strenuous attempts because it is all we have.

~~~~~
6/22/2016

A science? Maybe for the people who invented the microchips that the programmers are using who are writing your algorithms based on your inability to keep up with culture, mass psychology, the arts, the lack of hope or the number of bloviating demagogues ready to pounce?

Testing your observations of nature have been very far from your boasted academic prowess. 

What is needed is a degree of esteem named SocioPolyPsych and with a minor in Hip Hop (or something similar). 

Geeez this could go on and on but you #polysci brainiacs don’t deserve it because not one of you can be found who proves the integrity of the label Science, in any academic degree. 

~~~~~

One day in a futuristic world where all beings in complex societies are physically hooked up to a massive central supercomputer, we may be able to genuinely predict the social behavior of populations that are politically dependent to function with efficiency. I do not look forward to that. Because it is entertaining to observe the observers who are right more than 50% of the time.

~~~~~

6/22/2016:

hmm. a new series developing that will have to be portrayed in tiny snippets for the internet attention deficit hyperactivity browsing public. The title of the series?:

What went wrong for Senator Bernie Sanders.

Know this readers: my predictions were public many months ago. I'm pretty pretty pretty sure you can find them. This series will extrapolate on those writings and the causality in reasons why they were made and why I knew with 90% certainty what would happen to his campaign for president of this greater country.

Point 1 (of many).

The aesthetics of the candidate.

Yes there are a shitload of very shallow people who make judgements about  people in a split-second. In your work or home environment, you have met one today.

Image for a meme: 10 or 20 young (youth is important for meme) African American people facing the camera. None expressing any interest. Collective cartoon thought bubble:

*"Oh not another old white guy. He fits my adapted stereotype of an old white guy. Part of the damn problem. He's a curmudgeon too! Seems like he's whining about his Ensure being late."*

All Rights Reserved (to editorialize): James Gray Mason, PhD (in WTF) 10/10/2015



#PoliticalScience #Theory #Speculation #Futurism #UnitedStates #JamesGMason #psychology #AmericanCulture #Prediction #JamesGrayMason #BernieSanders #USAElections #Vote2016 #endallsuffering #timetravelwish #IveBEENwithHER #ImwithHER

A Couple of Clinton Stories of Mine

When We Shook Hands . . 

I just remembered another Clinton story of mine. This one may be important here. It relates to Hillary's choice of men and her choice of William Jefferson Clinton as her lifetime partner.
  
I think it was 1995 or 1996. It was Spring. Bill had been on a whirl-wind tour of California, heading south to LA. <-- is that a lyric? Hmmm .. .  So he was due to stop in Salinas, California. I had the time and so decided to go to hear him. I was at this time very concerned about assault weapons. I wore my favorite black baseball cap in which I could pretend I was a submarine captain - a kind submarine captain. It was hot out, not very hot but Bill had to sit on the top of the steps of the Salinas City Hall and wait in the sun for the local speakers to finish. He was double tasking, working on his notes and listening to everyone speak - at the same exact time.

I was about five bodies back in from the rope line. He did not talk guns although that city would have been the perfect place for that discussion, to my disappointment.  As the procession of Secret Service and he began to walk the handshaking line I managed to put myself at the front of the rope line (sorry old lady, some people are more important). So my turn was approaching to shake the hand of a great man and he was almost to me. But for some reason I turned my head to my left and saw that a father was trying to get his son ahead of the crowd to shake his hand. So without thought I reached for the man's son. I raised him and brought him to Bill so they could touch, I spun the boy around (he was smiling huge) and his father was grateful and thanked me. I thought that I had just missed a chance to shake his big puffy (inflamed from hand shaking) hands. But no. Bill saw that kind action. He waited for me. We shook hands.  :-)  Aware, sensitive, watching for kindness, ready to repay that kindness. Wow. A good choice Hills. :-) 

Salinas TV station has this footage. Black cap can be seen. Act can be verified. :-)

Hillary and Chelsea on I-395 . .

My only story of being close to Hillary and Chelsea being this is Moms' day (is it?).  I think it was 2001 or 2002: I had been living in Connecticut since Spring of 2001. I had been driving my girlfriend to the New London train station for her singing engagements in New York City. In my defense; I would have been glad to drive her and screw around in the city, eat bagels, talk to cops, go to the GWP dog park with the fellas and try to find Joan Jet or maybe Pat Benatar (maybe have sex with), or maybe find Genine Garafalo and make her laugh very hard until she emesis her fluid through her nasal passages and perhaps all over the sidewalk and then snap a quick shot of that - I would have given it to her to keep. But, other celebrities would show up there and satisfy that celebrity closeness quick thrill (like ol Lou Reed, I mean, just seeing that he could walk was kind of amazing in itself), but she loved the train. So, I had dropped her off and saw her train leave - as all gentlemen should do! [they are trying to get rid of the explanation mark; more on this conspiracy at my weblog. Backup: At the train station there are ferry terminals/docks nearby. Two of them are very popular. One line makes the Martha's Vineyard run. Locally, this is known as the most pleasant way to get there and come back at night all happy and rested. On a weekday or a Sunday for instance, at this time of the year of this story the ferry had very light traffic from Martha's Vineyard.  Okay; So, I returned to the interstate from New London and was driving north on I-395, happily back home to pretend I was a REAL bachelor, don't ask about this activity, please.  Umm. . Where was I?  I was in the left lane passing some traffic and I came upon a commonly seen but uniquely governmental protection activity in the right lane. I once had to wait for almost 1.5 hours at an exit ramp in New Orleans for g-dammed Dan Quayle who was happily running late and did not inform the NOPD! Jeez! If you are a politician and you DO NOT want a whole community to vote for you, this is how it is done. All your great decisions in office may be overlooked by this emotion invoking activity - we Americans have no time for this shit. :-] So, I am too familiar with these fine security officers and the clear patterns which pretty much give them away even at a great distance. So, it was two well heavy black suburban assault vehicles or SAVs and they were sandwiching a light blue economy class rental car, a four-passenger vehicle. I was passing at a consistent rate of speed and so was likely not seen as any threat. However, I was high up seated in a white Toyota pick-up. I realized quickly it was probably somebody important and I should drive by respectfully (in case I meet them one day and they have a lot of money), not drawing any attention at all to the fine California marijuana in the hubcaps [Okay Grammarly: I know this is wordiness it's me.] I grew out of it soon after; actually smoked it all. The driving, with the wheels, was all wobbly and variably shaky for a while until it was all gone. I guess I should have just removed each stash from each wheel all at once. Hindsight. :-(   So, as I passed the blue car and in my typical American fascination with celebrity phenom I was compelled to glance at the driver and passenger. Two floppy straw hats from that Martha's Vineyard gift shop near the terminal did not quite conceal them. As trained and reminded prior to their trip, they did pull down the left brim of their hats as a high vehicle was approaching on the left - great safety measure. Great learned habit. I now have one and do the same thing. Except mine has a price tag hanging on it like what's her name, from Hee Haw and I have fruit like that other lady who dances really well to Latin music with really good balance. Age revealed. :-(  

Hillary and Chelsea's unique hair stylings were known to me, avid politics observer, and so I quickly presumed I was seeing them. Hillary's jaw line is also familiar and that was the giveaway as I passed. There was some emotional conversation going on. Chelsea was only occasionally glancing to Hillary, but she turned her head quickly to the right a couple of times as if not wanting to engage. I had wondered why they were going to drive so far, to New York state, up through half of Connecticut to Massachusetts, west on the Mass Pike for hours, then hours north to their new home. Hmmm . . . . I type here sometimes.  Recognizing a communication difficulty was in an occurrence I attempted to speculate what may have been going on in that small rental car. .  .hmm again. So, the Clintons; Many turbulent years had passed, the years in the White House were over. The inter family adaptation to having been in that busy spotlight, with all that very personalized controversy must have taken a toll on the ability to communicate in that special family. For a daughter at Chelsea's age, this is a sensitive time between some mothers and daughters, never mind that that Chelsea had lived in an extreme circumstance (comparative to the rest of us, unless you have lived with me), she had to adapt to rumor and innuendo at school, whispers, gossip - we can all imagine. Yes G wordie, stop this. Communication after a time like this needs to be reestablished. It had been enough time past since leaving Washington D.C. for the families' thoughts to come to understanding, conceptually. It was time for mother and daughter to spend some long hours trapped together in a small car learning of that new communication that will be needed. Assume this and assume it with some accuracy: Hillary was being an active and engaging and courageous mother for her daughter at just the right time. She took initiative. She was sensitive enough to know that that long car ride was a damn good idea.  I have no doubt that after that car ride a new kind of relationship was formed. A past presidency relationship, more like the mother and daughter relationship that Chelsea needed at that exact time. If we could all have mothers like this. Advocates. Sensitive and aware. Observant of feelings. Creative enough to find a way to break through that new post-pubescent wall of fresh judgments that so many teenagers become stuck in. Bravo, Hillary.

Hills: You can be my mom if you like. I know you miss it. That grandchild won't be enough, you'll need someone cute to pet and to be concerned for right there in the Oval Office. I offer my free labor of pretending to be your child for about four years. I can pull it off. For the security of our nation, I have some earplugs and you can control what I hear. :-) 

By the way Chelsea, you remember that white truck if you think about it, because you noticed that bright green radio flash symbol that kind of looked like a marijuana leaf, above the words Radio Free Monterey, didn't you? You were looking for distractions, it was uncomfortable, I know.  

I should say here: The black SAVs were almost perfectly spaced in proper Secret Service professional etiquette and I could actually feel the very observant and judging awareness of their minds as I approached in the left lane. A favor guys, maybe for this one compliment - how often do you get them? Hell, I may need you one day. :-) Red haired kid at Lafayette Park every fourth of July with the huge bong who kept waving  it at the White House. Remember? Those days are gone. :-( 

Next; the story about the 13-year-old bored hyperactive kid who rode his white Raleigh ten-speed bicycle all the way through the United States Capitol building.  :-)  he he he he he.  Oh D.C. is a blast!

Copyright Reserved: James Gray Mason, March, 2015. 

JamesGMason.com

#Hillary2016 #comedy #jokes   #amwriter   #jamesgmason  

The Worse Injury to Heal at Home: Testerosis Assyitis Ankle

About 40 hours after the injury:

"Hmmm . . something doesn't feel right."

The independence will kill you . .

I sprained my ankle on March 5th, 2015. I did not immediately seek medical advice because there was little pain, almost none. However an immense amount of pain at the moment of the injury that only last aprx 2 seconds, in a public form meeting room in the Congressional Office Building in Hartford. So much pain in one instant that I screamed aloud and alerted the meeting.

Weeks went by and I treated it carefully, with a lot of basic first aide knowledge about feet, I did everything right for 10 weeks (except I am naturally hyperactive) before seeing the FIRST orthopedic surgeon who "Can not treat you."




Author at home currently. "I got that!" *No animals were poked in the ass


UPDATE: 11.23.2017

Health: Very sharp and too frequent nerve pain in the foot/leg on our walk this morning. Quickly disabling pain. Shooting with mixed spikes of sting and burn. Thinking about submitting to a hospital emergency room. Would need several days in a germ packed building of negligence incidents looking for victims to happen to. And, US hospitals: flesh eating bacteria death traps.





image above: That's going to be me: I might put commander Tuvok on some kind of harness. I don't know. This thing is $400. Would bust me. But I need this; no thanks to these incompetent god-complexed white-coated a*sholes.



Summer 2017:




Beginning in the summer of 2015, the strange nerve pain feelings began to be felt throughout my body. By September the first neurologist had said to me "I can not treat you."



They can't see it.

 in the making of the person described below.
____ Updates:

Time Travel Wish & Paradox One

Shared publicly  -  5:20 AM

8:00 am -5


Another neurologist to tell me he can't help me after telling the whole damn story of the past year to someone again. Hope I get the story right. They hate it when patients hand them documented testimony. They fancy themselves expert interrogators of symptoms and behavior. They would miss the gorilla in the shoot just as much as anyone one of us. The term Doctor should be taken from them all. They are technicians and they need to start acting like it.

Dammit 4 hours and woke up at 5 am with pain. They switched the appointment, no appointment, new doctor entirely and they did not call; and it takes 2 hours of painful right foot stop and go traffic to get there and back! @@@#@!!

~~~~~~~

It is true: Overly active men are the worse patients in orthopedic healing at home. I'm unfortunate to be one. But being so has changed me to a degree. This transformation is perhaps in itself a dangerous symptom of this type of injury that the medical community is overlooking. Perhaps to their peril? For what is to become of a bored man with this dreaded condition that may cause unstable and previously unknown of behaviors?

A mans' sprained ankle long term healing: It is the only injury most often diagnosed as a pain in the ass. Or medically speaking: TTA or Testerosis Assyitis Ankle.

I studied the ancient art of denial before this injury. My leg has been elevated so much NASA now wants to know the effects of gravity on it. Why isn't their a market value for that weird fluid under my skin? I mean . . it must have electrolytic property or perhaps industrial lubricant or high-protein  drinking water? It must be everywhere -  oh that's why.

~~~~~~~

Update: 

Time Travel Wish & Paradox OneShared publicly - 1:22 PM
Back from another useless specialist appointment. One important matter we both agreed upon: "Why did he refer you to a vascular surgeon?" She's giving me a new neurologist. YNH Medical School will call. Grrreat. A wall again. For the third time since September. Strange nervous system pains are spreading again. Thought advancement was under control. Frequency and amount of feeling up.
#timetravelwish #JamesGMason #JamesGrayMason 

~~~~~

There needs to be robot orthopedic doctors now. Men need to anonymously report their injuries to a machine and get the help they think they can manage on their own to someone who is definitely not another guy. The robot should be feminine in appearance - moms are supposed to take care, that is what we men want. She should agree with everything the man-patient says. At the end of the appointment she can give him a written report he can later swallow whole that says the truth on it.

Of course, priority robot safeguards in her software will never allow her to say "Why-did-you-NOT-seek-this-in-for-ma-tion-on-the-in-ter-net-six-weeks-a-go?-boop." All voice sound should be sexy robot like. Whoever is really Siri - she would be okay. Definitely no needles or medical bondage protocols are necessary. There must be a big red pause button on her front.

I carry a trekking a pole now and it has a steel spike on its end which is very practical in addition to keeping me from falling on my ass. I can pick up garbage, oxygenate the lawn, poke my dog in the ass to make him stop daydreaming, scratch my own ass whenever I like or however far I want to go with that, or pretend to be a blind smart guy who teaches at the local university to get laid, or tenderize tough meat products on the kitchen floor, break up the ice on the front steps, get doggy doo-doo on its end and chase a girl around, and of course annoyingly tapp news anchors in the face on my television screen while yelling at them what they should have said. My dog now thinks all humans can grow a thin mechanical third leg just to poke dogs in the ass with. He'll be an old dog when he starts figuring things out straight (yes, I know, like me).

Strictly psychologically speaking; Even with clear knowledge of the value of resting myself to heal the ankle, my ego so wants to me to do independent things I caught my penis trying to pick up a pencil yesterday. I swear I had nothing to do with it. I have a nanny-cam set up to catch the thing, him or it the very next time. I think it is mad because I stopped listening years ago.

I keep imagining myself as that stupid character in that show with that asinine god complex immersed doctor who has a cane. With this cane in hand I'm now fantasizing I had a submissive male weakling for a personal assistant so I can poke him around the place and make him get chores done and still hang around to validate my opinions and tolerate a lot of sarcasm and find that all of my jokes are very amusing from minute to minute.  

When outside in nature hobbling along with my cane in one hand, I often stop to catch my breath and let the ankle rest. In these serene moments I observe nature around me and I listen to the many sounds so many of us take for granted while in motion. There's this couple a block a way screwing like rabbits and screaming like it’s a crime of passion. I've written the town council and I'm getting ready to letter bomb the legislature about this!

Additionally, any emotional statement in public like "You kids get the ***k off my lawn!" Is almost a beautiful thing when a cane is pointed in emphasis.

After careful research into the history of this condition it is clear that the prescribed treatment has remained basically unchanged. First it was weed, then it was mead, then just wine, then mead again, then for a long time whiskey, then weed and beer, then just weed then computer games, online social networking distraction and weed without the beer, then it became the normative to complain and throw stuff instead of walking with weed and anti anxiety pharmaceuticals. I have access to none of these basic and reliable sedation methods. Oh, and there is something called Range of Motion exercises (what ever the hell that is).

However, first treatment remains basic Boy Scouts first aid stuff throughout in addition to those "medications." Additionally, denial must not be present and the man-patient must be completely washed of an overly confident and magical concept that his special body heals itself, prior to first aid.

From favoring one leg too much, I know what ballerina's toe pain feels like.  I'm getting a thick callus on the heel of my good foot and for some reason, I have recently become very concerned about chaffing and the softness and loss of moisture of the skin of the bad foot. I am emasculating!

I had a nightmare; I woke up in bed and I sat up and looked down at my legs. The injured foot leg was significantly smaller than the other, like a small novelty baseball bat. I was certain I was awake. I quickly blamed myself for my idiocy and took personal responsibility with my inner consciousness, then immediately proceeded to dream about va . . flying. I got this last thing too. 

Author: About 30 hours AFTER the injury:

(below): Jeez. This was DAY AFTER I badly sprained my ankle on March 6th. No pain at all. No idea I was walking around with nerve damage that was undiagnosable by smart ass radiologists. The slow rolling nightmare from that injury continues today. Another day of variable and migrating nerve pain all through my body because of that fu*king ankle sprain. Jeez.


3/7/2015: Two winter soldiers: one of them a human winter soldier, the other a dog winter soldier. Fighting on through the snow! F**k winter already! :-)

About 40 hours AFTER the injury:

"Hmmm . . something doesn't feel right."

Addendum: 2/17/15: Finally saw an orthopedic surgeon. As it turns out, they have phone numbers now. He was a middle aged white male doctor - I quickly recalled Dr. Joseph Gannon from Marcus Welby M.D. and fast associated that character and I pretended he was him - except his face was an older version of Marilyn Monroe [James: investigate]. However, I saw no standard indications that he had God Complex. He was not using a cane to walk - I was happy to see. Everyone in the office (who I could see) could also use all of their synovial joints okay, so he appears to be successful.  :-)

Addendum: 6/21/15. Worse. That doctor was so steeped in God complex his certainty has cost me months and prolonged the hopeful. My immobility is beginning to anger me. The loss of freedom to move about, to go out into nature where I love to be, is an ability far more valuable to me than any orthopedic physician can ever understand, because . . "Doctor: the patient is always right." 

Physical therapy was recommended to me as the first treatment. I put if off for about two weeks, then began attending regularly for about 6 sessions. Unable to receive household chores assistance and a regular dog walker, has made physical therapy nearly impossible to achieve healing. No sedation of myself was ever even considered by this man. No investigation, or even one single question, as to my ability to heal myself and participate fully in my healing was ever asked. Apparently the male doctor expected me to return in an act of faith in medical science, to him, for repeated visits. I don't play that game with assholes - I don't give them opportunity to continue that expensive and inefficient pattern of practice. 

Strongly considering the BEST options for eliminating my sprained ankle condition and returning my freedom as soon as possible: I will have to conduct the amputation myself. in close proximity to an emergency room. I will have to smash the old foot immediately so that no surgeon will be able to reattach the foot. I do not expect that any practicing physician will see the reasoning behind this decision and allow me to conduct this amputation in a clean and controlled medical environment. I have the tools. I have experienced the intense and prolonged pain of amputation in my past. I am ready to suffer this extreme pain for a period of many months for a final and efficient answer to returning myself to full mobility as soon as possible. I will video the procedure for the benefit of others facing a similar dilemma.

** I have an appointment with a NEW Orthopedic surgeon next week. If her plans for my treatment are standard and typical this procedure will be carried out. My time is far more valuable than that time period involved in treating this ankle sprain. Our time is more valuable than this foot problem. James out!

May, 2015: Surprised to get a hot doctor. Looks like a hot me!

Right leg getting smaller! July, 2015

"What ELSE is getting smaller?

Addendum: 6/22/15: 

"We can rebuild him. We have the Technology."

Apparently informing my mother of my new resolution to chop off my right foot was beneficial because it caused her to run out and find for me this used orthopedic boot that may solve the problem.

Fear of the horrific in your own family can cause you to take action that you probably should have months in the past.

update: 11:45 pm. this is too painful to wear for more than one hour. the pain when placing pressure on the heel does not subside. No help in mobility. Too painful to keep on. :-( bummer. Oh well. Choppy whoopi time in about one month. If what's her name is typical and caught in a pattern of validation of her successful work.

:-(


Update, July 21, 2015 . . .. 

Too much for now. Many things happening!@#!

See posts with #Orthopedic on my G+ profile page. Linked on sidebar. 
James out!

"3 and a half months to get a nerve test! Considering extremities - the need for this one on the right leg!"

Considering a new carbon foot. Get this shit over with! 

Update; August 14, 2015: The hot doctor's office scheduled me for an EMG, or Electric thingy majiggy, for my nerves. The hot doctor thinks my pain is from nerve damage in my back. She had scheduled me to a place where "The usually refer patients." Said the hot doctor's receptionist, who is the one to talk to for medical opinion apparently. Figures; they have a special relationship to some other office for nervous system testing - a cozy relationship apparently. But, there are dozens of facilities in New England that do that testing! That date was for October, 16, 2015. 3.5 months to wait for that nerve test. So I found another place and go the hot doctors's office to refer me to there. That appointment for an EMG is on the 17th, of August. Yayyy. 

9/29/15 She said she was done with me. :-( No referral and I still have allot of pain and can barely walk or drive for more than a half an hour. See a guy from Ghana today. Unbelievable! This has been some kind of a slowly moving nightmare.

#Orthopedic #Hotdoctors 

Blood work was seen. No indication of anything inordinate. Normal. But ordinary/normal is validated. Not never seen before levels. Uric acid levels and protein spillage would have been noticed. Thanks Brian. He was dissapointed that he did not recieve my EMG/Nerve conduction test results, although those were considered normal by that neurologist. I have a friend in Seattle who is a radiologist, I'm going to ask him for advice today. I suspect that my injury was to the the lumbar region and that is was so small that it was not observed. Hoping that is the case. Later! 

Huffing through the halls on one good leg. 

This is very elevating. This'll remind me to promote my mother. 👌🏻

Update: November, 2nd, 2015:

Off to the neurologist this morning. In Hartford. At a huge hospital where I’ll have to walk hundreds of feet on a cement floor. Dammit! Jeez. This guy has to figure-out what’s wrong with me. Damn smart ass radiologist probably missed something. They tend to look for what to expect. Typical male in the medical profession condition these days. The gorilla walked onto the set and the smart ass MRI radiologist, working on hundreds of patients per week, did not see the gorilla. So I suffer with strange and variable nerve pain all because I badly sprained my ankle and did not know it for many days. Because my nerve was being tweaked by some intricate damage that is likely very small, somewhere near by vertebrae. SHIT. Wish me luck Googlers.

UPDATE 12:00 pm -5: It was bad news. "I don't know what I can do for you." He is going to suggest to my primary physician that he refer me to a spine specialist, or a podiatrist, and possibly a chiroquacker. Jeez. FUCK! Helpless. Not good news today. I had wanted a direction. Now floating with no clear diagnoses. He has NO IDEA why I feel pain about 40 hours after ANY assault to the foot and leg.

5/15/2016. 14 months after the injury. Things look terrible for my comfort and mobility for the rest of my life.

#Orthopedic #JamesGMason #GodComplex #MalePhysicians  

Copyright Reserved: James G. Mason, April, 2015.

JamesGMason.com


*Likely, this article will be extrapolated (rewritten) upon within the next few months. Be sure to email follow this weblog for important updates!





#comedy #essays #JamesMasonMD #Orthopedic #SprainedAnkle #DenialNotARiver #WhiteCoatHypertension #amwriter #manpatients #nursingschool #geriatriccare #homecare #caneuses #weblogging #weblog #jamesgmason #ttw #sol3 #dontwantyourlove