Get this exchange Hernandez had at the hospital. ] Earlier, in a waiting room at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan, Hernandez sat with Ramirez, waiting for the MRI. "It's not good," he said, holding his outstretched right leg. "It's tightening up." "Mr. El Duque, Mr. El Duque, please write you name for us on this piece of paper," said a hospital worker who entered the room. "Mr. Hernandez," El Duque corrected her. He signed his name. "That doesn't say El Duque," she said. "El Duque is not his real name," someone told her. "Excuse me, is he who I think he is?" asked an older man sitting in the waiting room, looking at Hernandez and holding a newspaper opened to the sports section. "Yes," someone said. The man stood, stepped toward Hernandez and shook the pitcher's hand. "Good luck to you," said the man. El Duque was told that the woman in the hospital lobby was overheard saying she was leaving because an injured Yankee was being treated at the hospital. "I'll never be seen," she said in a huff. Hernandez laughed. "A Yankee would have had his MRI already," he joked. El Duque was tired of waiting. He was getting hungry. "I haven't eaten," he said, limping away from his chair. "Let's go get something to eat. This leg is tightening up on me again." A receptionist stopped him on his way out the door. "Mr. El Duque," she said, "we're ready for you." Last night, Hernandez said he felt a little better. He watched the Yankees' playoff game on television. "I'm taking it easy," he said. "Let's see how it feels in the morning."