I just removed a pack of ice from my lower leg. While normally this might be part of my “Attract Single Eskimo Women Night” plans, unfortunately tonight it was part of my “Ouch, Ouch, Stop Hurting Every Time I Apply Pressure” plan. While less fun, my wife seems to approve of the latter (might I add, more punishing) plan.
I did something last Sunday while jogging. I’d like to say I was running, but when snails are scooting past you one has to be honest with themselves. I’m not exactly sure what I did. It isn’t red and it hasn’t swelled a bit. I assume I pulled a tendon or muscle or something, but I’m no doctor. Humorously, some of my students have taken to referring to me as Dr. House in the meantime. It’s fun to laugh at the crippled.
Why is that? Why are some injuries funny, while others are not? For example, if putting things away after a visit to the grocery store, it is entirely likely I will drop something on my head trying to force it onto a high shelf. My wife laughs without fail every time this occurs. How does she know that bag of marshmallows didn’t cause a concussion? Trust me, you’d be surprised by the number of ER visits each year due to marshmallow concussions. Help us, Mr. Obama.
I can’t criticize her for it, either (at least not with a clear conscience). My wife stands nearly a foot shorter than me and I sometimes ask her to put things away on the top shelf just to watch the ensuing high jinks. This may make me a bad person, but it also makes me an entertained one. I’m not entirely sure where I’m comfortable drawing a line between those two.
So, I’ll take the laughs and finger pointing for this week while I heal up. I’ll be a man about it and not threaten to lower a student’s grade just because they ask me where Cuddy is. And next time I see someone drop a jar of pickles in the grocery store and then proceed to fall in the mess? I’ll laugh. But deep down, I’ll know it isn’t entirely funny–because I suffered more.
