Old & Busted

My dear, sweet husband plays in a recreational flag football league. He is 28 years old, and I'd venture to guess the average age of the guys is 32. That certainly isn't old, but they sure know how to get themselves busted....especially my husband.

He has played in past seasons, and they've all been outdoors at local parks. This season they played at the bubble, which has this fabulously coarse, scratchy astro-turf-type stuff. Perfect to tear up your elbows and knees when they go sliding and rolling across it's terrible surface. He's gotten plenty of turf-rash, which turns into this pus-covered, scab-resistant mess. UCK.

There is always the requisite twisted knee, sprained ankle, and bumps and bruises that can't be avoided (even if it is flag football and not tackle). It's always fun to watch, too, but I cringe everytime he's "in on the action," praying he won't get hurt. His daily career sorta depends on his physical well-being, you know?

Anyway, last Sunday was the final game of the season...a tournament. He was to play 2 or 3 games. I went off to Mass, telling him, "If you get yourself busted, I am going to be so pissed." As I'm exiting the church that day, I see my husband has parked his car and is making his way very gingerly toward me. He is walking like he got kicked in the junk.

Me, being the ever-so-concerned wife says, "What'd you do now? Get kicked in the junk?"
"No," he says, "I hurt my ankle.
Me: Great.....

I know I sound like an evil wife. So, from this point on, instead of being Me, or Em in the conversation, we will replace the "M" with a "W" which will stand for "Evil Wife" because I so was on Sunday.

So, we both went home, and all day he whined and complained (like most men do when they have a paper cut or a bump on the head). I just chalked it up to him being a baby, and I made mean, condescending comments to him all day. See, I told you I am an Evil Wife.

Finally, after a few hours, he just kept sighing. I could hardly take the whining and sighing anymore, so he called his mom who is a nurse. He explained his symptoms to her and she suggested we go to the ER. UGH.

I went downstairs and brought up crutches from a past losing battle that my husband had. I huffed as I plopped them down in front of him and he replies, "I'm not using those things!" EW says: "If you are broken enough to go the ER, you are USING the crutches!" "Yes, ma'am..." he said, slightly trembling... :)

We've had some bad experiences at the ER...things like going in and complaining that I have kidney pain, they run me through plenty of tests, the tech says "Oh, you'll be able to get an answer about this..." all the while I'm KNOWING for CERTAIN that I have a kidney stone, and then 3 hours later, the Doc comes back in and says, "You have kidney pain."

Uhhhh....no kidding. That's what I told you 3 hours ago. I came in and told you I had kidney pain. And now you're telling me that what's wrong with me is that I have kidney pain?! You're a quack!

Needless to say, I didn't want a repeat performance of THAT, especially with a 4 month old baby along for the ride. So, we went to another hospital that promises that you will be seen within 30 minutes.

We were seen very promptly, everyone was courteous and caring, and Jake was taken back to x-ray quickly and treated much nicer than I had been treating him all day. They cooed and fawned over Asher and my husband, despite me being a total EW, was in a relatively good mood (I think he relished the attention).

Soon the Dr. (a non-quack) came back and told him the good news and the bad news (very dramatic that there is always a little of column a and column b). The good news is that he was going to be OK, the bad news is that he had a chip fracture.

I felt like a jerk. A really mean, awful Evil Wife at that point. All day I had been making jabs at him, about what a big, whiney baby he had been....but here there was actually a reason for his sighing and whining. See, I told you...Evil Wife.

I sincerely apologized to him. He apologized back for being so whiney. We gathered some scripts, an ice pack, a little support cast, some paperwork, the crutches, a Dr.'s note for work, the baby, the carseat, the diaper bag, Jake's other shoe, and waddled out of the hospital. As we were walking out, he thanked me for taking him to the ER. I again apologized for being such an EW. He said it was OK. We were back to marital bliss.

My poor old and busted husband....