What did those kids do to that nice lady?

Friday, November 18, 2011

Dr. Gelato

The other day I got a phone call from Husband in the middle of the afternoon.  He rarely calls during work hours (can you blame him?) so I answered.  Good news did not await me.
I hurt my knee, He said.  My good one.  (No, he’s not 78.)  Ohhh...I said.  Are you...okay?  I don’t know, He said.  It hurts pretty bad.  I said, I’m so sorry. Hopefully it’s just a little twist or something and will feel better in a few hours?  He said, I hope so.  I really hope I don’t have to have knee surgery.  I said, why do you jump to knee surgery?  Can we start with a sprain?  He said, you know I have fucked up knees.  (He curses, too.  I’m not the only dirty mouth in the house.)  I said, I know.  I’m sorry.  Your knee can get fucked up when you fall off a wall drunk in college.  He said, it was a baseball injury when I was 12!  I said, yeah, the first time.  So...what time do you think you’ll be home?
I have to say...I think I handled that conversation pretty well.  Yeah, I kind of sound like an asshole...but, if you could hear my internal dialogue, you would understand how kind and patient I was being.  Let’s be truthful here, ladies; having a sick husband is no picnic.  I mean, what’s worse? Sick kids or sick Husband?  I know exactly what you are thinking when your Husband may come home with a “cough” or a “fever” or an “upset stomach.”  It goes something like this:
Oh, you don’t feel good?  Great.  Fucking super. That’s too bad.  That’s really too bad.  For me.  Can’t wait for you to lie around on the sofa asking me for shit.  Like I need another kid to take care of right now.  You haven’t even thrown up.  You don’t really get to be sick unless you’re barfing.  Last time I got sick, I did barf.  A lot.  Was anyone home to help me?  No.  Did I get to take a nap?  No.  Oh, you did get home early...that’s right.  So at 5 p.m. I finally got to lay the fuck down and barf in peace.  Nobody watches you when you barf.  Two Short People don’t stand over you and laugh because Mommy’s making funny sounds.  Nope.  You come home and close the bedroom door and nobody even bothers you.  Must.Be.Nice.  
Now, because I love Husband and want Him to buy me drinks tonight, I have to say...I do feel His concern when I am sick.  He does try to be flexible and make it home early to help me with the kids.  But I have a dream.  I have a dream one day that if I am sick, I will get to stay in bed all day and watch episode after episode of the Real Housewives.  Now, I’m not asking to be sick...I’m just saying...if I do get sick...I want to lay in my bed.  By myself.  Luckily for Husband, I have superior genes and do not get sick often.  And if I am sick, I will probably deny it because everyone knows if you ignore it, it will just go away.  
Which brings me to my medical advice for Husband: Honey, I’m sorry you hurt your knee again.  It does look uncomfortable to not be able to bend it.  I’m pretty sure if you stop looking and touching your knee, it will magically heal itself.  But if you do need knee surgery, I will nurse you back to health, just like a Good Wife.  It won’t be fun; it won’t be pretty...but then again...neither are your fucked up knees.  

1 comment:

  1. I remember one Thanksgiving and my family was at my house and each one proceeded to come down with flu. I was busy cleaning up after everyone with bleach and Lysol, bringing them Tylenol and soup, making sure that they had the remote until everyone was back on there feet again. The minute everyone got better I got sick. They made me go to my bedroom which didn't even have a TV and puke in silence. I even had to empty my own puke bucket, sterilize the room and bleach the sheets. No one would even bring me a hot cup of tea, I had to drag my butt out to the kitchen and pray I wouldn't pass out waiting for the water to boil because if I did who knows how long I would have laid there. Anyway (wow I guess I have held that in awhile)I vowed from that moment on I would never get the flu again, I guess it is just better to be a caregiver.