Diagnosis, please doctor?

I had to make an appointment to visit the doctor. I rarely do that. I can count on one hand the number of visits to a physician I've made in the last 15 years. I like to think it's superior genetic make-up.

Well, the superior genetic make-up only seems to work if it's an illness that would keep you from a day of work. It doesn't appear to be able to work it's magic if your knees are involved.

I goofed one up two years ago and, as my years of liberal arts education give me license to make such educated decisions, I diagnosed my right knee as sprained and rolled merrily along. I chalked up my ability to predict rain by it's pain as "folksy." Treatment: Tough it up, girly man.

I goofed up my left one playing softball this fall. Self-diagnosis again
revealed a severe sprain. I finished the season and we came in 2nd place, a game from the championship T-shirt. I chalked up the pain that shot into my brain if I tripped or stubbed my toe as "phantom." Treatment: Rest it more.

Seeing as how I neither one will not straighten out without some degree of pain nor bend with a full range of motion, I think it's time that somebody who has been to college for longer than I've been in academia to have a look.

If the treatments have anything to do with toughening up or more rest, I'm going to hang out my own shingle, though.