My husband went to the doctor! And he had a sinus infection! And he's taking medicine! What is it with men and doctors, anyway? They won't do checkups, they don't take the preventative tests, they seem to expect their signifigant others to diagnose and medicate with meat loaf and mashed potatoes. It's not that men are from Mars and women from Venus, it's that they are such strikingly different life forms that no interspecies interaction is possible (except for, you know). The brains, the languages are too different for even possible translations.
But he's in the hands of professionals now. And his doctor, a woman, by the way, persuaded him by saying "Go ahead and have a stroke, you big dummy" or something to that effect. The sheer force of her anger woke him out of his slumber, and like Sleeping Beauty, he took the apple, or whatever. The metaphor is too banal, even for me.
He's sleeping as I speak, because he actually got some medical help with his cough. Which meant I slept much better last night, and had no dreams of Thomas the Engine struggling uphill or tubercular wards in the mountains of Switzerland. Relief!
At least until next time he won't do the rational thing and prefers to analyze his condition by remote control and the help of a gullible wife.
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