Ever since I’ve known Tate, he has been somewhat accident and injury prone. Back in the olden days when we were dating, he used to woo me with talk of concussions and broken pinkies he received playing intramural sports in college. He’d describe to me in detail the crab claw that lacerated his hand or the ladder and ice incident that left him with a head injury. That boy really knew the ins and outs of romance.
Very little has changed. Even now, it seems like at least weekly he’s complaining of some sort of ailment caused by a multitude of sources. Bugs fly smack dab into his eyeballs, leaving me to wonder if his eyelids need some sort of agility training. He’s always complaining of getting water in his ear, like just this past week when we were on vacation at the beach. Tate claims an old “rotater cuff injury” to get himself out of helping with housework and picking up socks off the floor.
A few weeks ago, he was playing soccer with some friends and severely twisted his ankle. At the time, he assured me he didn’t need to go to the emergency room. He tough man. He take pain like bear. He take pain reliever like junkie.
What I find most disturbing is his insistence on depending on me for medical advice.
“Jennifer. My ankle still really hurts. It feels like I the bones and ligaments are all loose inside, and now my leg is starting to hurt. Look at my ankle and my leg. Does it seem to bow out differently than my other leg?”
“Well, uh, I, uh…” I stammer, looking at what appears to be two symmetrical legs and one obviously screwed up, puffy, red ankle.
“Feel it. Can you feel how this ankle just doesn’t feel right, like the bones aren’t aligned or maybe they’re broken. What do you think? Is it broken? FEEL IT.” He looks at me with the trust and desperation in his eyes that should be reserved for a medical doctor with thirty years experience treating sprains, strains, and breaks.
“Tate, I don’t really think I’m qualified…..” I shrug my shoulders and shake my head and look at him like he’s lost his marbles.
“NO, right here, put your hand right here. Do you feel that? Does that feel broken? You feel that, right?” He is adamant, as if asking me four different ways will somehow morph me into an M.D.
Why can’t he just be normal and ask Dr. Google for advice? What is WRONG with him?