“There is a growing strength in women, but it is in the forehead, not in the forearm.” Beverly Sills
What a smart observation by Beverly. She’s obviously been privy to the goings-on between the sexes everywhere and indeed, this house.
The Provider has been complaining about a sore shoulder for weeks. And when I say complaining, I mean sighing dramatically every time he rolls over or rearranges himself in bed for the bazillionth time every night. It is driving me nuts. I miss those nights when going to bed meant you pulled up the covers and didn’t hear a thing until morning.
I know that might make me sound a tad unsympathetic but really, I’m not – I’ve been the loving and caring wife, on-hand with ice packs and pain meds as required and generally fussing over him. I even helpfully suggested he take himself off to physio and get it sorted (as I would have done AGES ago) for all our sakes. He mumbled something about being too busy, not having time to go, etc, etc, that it would get better by itself. My sleep-deprived brain however was not impressed with this response. “FFS, the world won’t end if you have a day off!” I snarked, before channelling my frustration with men’s macho BS into dealing with the Mega Mountain of Laundry. The Provider could tell I was serious by the way I was cracking those towels and folding them flat with a smack. But did he go? Uh, NO.
Several weeks later and – surprise, surprise – his shoulder was still cactus. Finally the Provider had a revelation and took himself to see our local GP who sent him to have an ultrasound. I picked up the film the next day and after he had a look, the doctor wrote him a referral for further treatment. All the Provider had to do was check his work schedule then call to make an appointment. So freaking easy, huh? Not so much.
More time slipped by. More daily enquiries from me ‘Did you CALL them?’ More complaining from him (ARGGGGH!) about his shoulder. More nights of broken sleep for me (and him).
To borrow a phrase heard recently, I’ve decided that ‘a line has been crossed’. After speaking to the very helpful Renae we have an appointment for tomorrow morning. The Provider has been informed that we are going, come hell or high water. There may or may not have been threats of intimate relations being withheld, dependent on his answer.
Being the intelligent man he is, he has wisely agreed to go. And I will be there supporting his sore-shouldered macho arse, not only because I’m a good wife who loves her husband but because there’s only so much spak filler can do to cover the dark circles I’ve been sporting lately.
What are the men in YOUR life like when they’re hurt or sick? Easy to deal with, near death’s door or stubbornly ‘fine’? Share your stories here!
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