Diagnosis No. 2

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post. This just shows Bruce's addiction to his sippy cup. Maybe we'll bury it on his third birthday.

Anyway, the main purpose of this post is for me to whine about my stupid hip. I went to see an orthopedic surgeon yesterday who said my hip is not dislocated (he said the X-ray tech must have positioned me strangely), but that it's actually bursitis. While I was perplexed by the dislocation diagnosis (I haven't been in a car accident or had any other major trauma), the bursitis diagnosis still doesn't sit well with me. In my opinion, that would have gone away with rest - which I've been doing for several months now. He prescribed anti-inflammatory drugs and told me to do physical therapy for one month. If it hurts after that, come back and see him.

Useless.

Then I tried to schedule a physical therapy session. First available date: April 22. Also useless.

Next step: finding a doctor that knows what he's doing.

While I'm sidelined and unable to catch him, Scott is taking up running. He is running every day and even doing hill workouts. And for good reason. He signed up for a road race in June. And not just any old road race - perhaps the most difficult one in New England: the Mount Washington Road Race. The big joke everyone likes to tell about this race is that "there's only one hill." It's a 7.6-mile race that goes up a switchback-style road on the tallest mountain in the Northeast (and is known for the most random weather ever), climbing more than 5,000 feet. It's crazy. Sheer madness. And Scott is doing it.