Monday, February 22, 2010
All I need is a lil sympathy......
The love of my life, my husband Daddio, is one hell of a cool guy. He’s a good provider, honest as the day is long, hard working and easy on the eyes too.
Daddio is fun and kind and always willing to lend a hand.
He has lots of other wonderful qualities, but there is one thing missing.
His sympathy gene.
Daddio has no time for whiners…or complainers.
When I came hobbling down the stairs a couple of days ago suffering from a bad case of Bleacher Back (4 high school events in one week) I was decending carefully and taking the stairs slowly, when I got to the bottom and rounded the corner I was hoping to run into some sympathy.
Daddio sat, rocking in his lazy boy, “what the hell’s the matter with you?” he asked.
Daddio hates when we go into graphic and detail rich descriptions of our pain.
So before I started into a lengthy explanation describing how my back felt like it had a red hot poker, with a jagged edge stabbing deep into my lower back and snaking its way down toward my rear…I just answered “I musta pulled something in my back.”
Dr. Daddio gave me his usual prescription….do some stretches, and have some water.
Um, some water, okay…. I’m sure that will do me wonders.
Water is the cure for all that ails us. According to our personal live-in physician, water is all that and more.
Last week Bear had some kind of virus, he tends to spike a very high temp when he’s sick. He called me at work to get some medicine directions and a little phone love from his momma.
“Ma, I feel like crap. My head’s about to explode and my eyes feel like someone is gouging them out with an ice pick. My throat is bloody red, stinging and it’s so scratchy I feel like I swallowed some sandpaper. My body aches like I was beaten with a metal bat.”
“And I feel so hot like I’m about to start on fire, my temperature, I’m almost positive, is at least 104.” (He was exaggerating just a bit with that last piece of information).
‘Oh my God, let me talk to your dad” I said to my sick baby.
“He’s okay” Daddio said “he just needs to drink more water.”
That phone call was enough to send me into a huge headache. I swear it pounded like I was getting hit in the head by a sledge hammer. Not just an ordinary sledge hammer, one with an extra knob on it that hit the side of my temple as the big side came down on the top of my head, and each time the hammer struck it made my teeth on top hurt, like there was an electric wire woven between the teeth which gave a shock like jolt about every 6 seconds or so.
I talked myself through the pain (and off the ledge) and had a large cup of ice water.
Daddio would have been proud.
Wonder if that would work for my aching feet? My new shoes aren’t breaking in to easily. I’ve got a blister (the size of a fifty cent piece) that hurts so bad it feels like its been squeezed in a steel vice. The skin is torn and it burns like someone took a Brillo pad and scratched it raw.
Since it feels like I’m getting stung by a jelly fish every time I step down, I’ve been walking funny and that has put a strain on my calf muscle. That calf muscle feels so tight it’s like I’ve had it in a too small compression sock for a week straight. The sensation of the veins being squished and squeezed by the swollen muscles is almost more than I can take.
When I try to step lightly and sideways to accommodate my sore leg I put an odd strain on my hip. Every time I take a few steps my hip joint makes a clicking sound. I’m sure the cartilage is gone and the bone is rubbing against bone.
When I fall into the front door tonight after work the good doctor will probably take one look at me and tell me I’m lacking some…you guessed it….H2O.
Man,…no one ever said being an over descriptive hypochondriac living with a holistic healer was going to be easy.
Thank you for listening.....
Posted by Koby at 6:27 AM
Labels: Daddio and me
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This post made me smile! :) i love your over descriptiveness!ReplyDelete
My husband is similar - when he is (very rarely) sick he will weep and wail and gnash his teeth at the awfulness of it all, insist he is suffering from a dread disease that will surely end his sorry life very soon, and demand every kind of pharmaceutical remedy known to man.ReplyDelete
When I am (very often) achey/sniffy/scratchy/ dying from a dread disease he will always, without fail, say "you're probably about to get your period". Damn!
PS hope you feel better soon!ReplyDelete