Oh, boy, am I ever suffering.
Nothing.
"OOOOhhhh," I moaned just a little louder.
Still nothing.
Then, "OOOOOHHHH," I wailed with all the volume of an expectant mother in the throes of delivery.
"OK, I heard you the first time," she said, making no attempt at all to hide her disgust. "If you're in that much pain, why don't you just call the doctor?"
"I don't have to," I said, happy that she was finally showing some interest in my suffering, albeit casual interest at best. "I know what it is."
"So now you're a doctor all of a sudden?" she snapped. "How do you know what's wrong?"
"Because I looked it up," I said with a certain pride in my diagnosis. "It's sciatica all right. Listen to this."
And I went on to read from the handbook: "Sciatica is an irritation of the sciatic nerve, which runs from the lower back down through the buttocks and to the feet. It can result when an injured disc presses against the nerve. Its main symptom is radiating pain, numbness, or weakness that be worse in the leg than in the back."
I looked up for some sign of approval. Nothing.
"Don't you see?" I said. "That explains why I have this terrible pain in the butt."
"Well, then what's the explanation for the terrible pain in my butt?" she asked.
"Very funny," I whined. "I don't know why you can't be more sympathetic."
"Because you're so pathetic!" she exclaimed. "You complain constantly. You moan and groan, you wiggle and squirm. You slather on so much Ben Gay every night that the neighbors are starting to complain about the fumes. And still you won't call the doctor!"
"I don't have to," I muttered. "I know what it is."
Still nothing.
Then, "OOOOOHHHH," I wailed with all the volume of an expectant mother in the throes of delivery.
"OK, I heard you the first time," she said, making no attempt at all to hide her disgust. "If you're in that much pain, why don't you just call the doctor?"
"I don't have to," I said, happy that she was finally showing some interest in my suffering, albeit casual interest at best. "I know what it is."
"So now you're a doctor all of a sudden?" she snapped. "How do you know what's wrong?"
"Because I looked it up," I said with a certain pride in my diagnosis. "It's sciatica all right. Listen to this."
And I went on to read from the handbook: "Sciatica is an irritation of the sciatic nerve, which runs from the lower back down through the buttocks and to the feet. It can result when an injured disc presses against the nerve. Its main symptom is radiating pain, numbness, or weakness that be worse in the leg than in the back."
I looked up for some sign of approval. Nothing.
"Don't you see?" I said. "That explains why I have this terrible pain in the butt."
"Well, then what's the explanation for the terrible pain in my butt?" she asked.
"Very funny," I whined. "I don't know why you can't be more sympathetic."
"Because you're so pathetic!" she exclaimed. "You complain constantly. You moan and groan, you wiggle and squirm. You slather on so much Ben Gay every night that the neighbors are starting to complain about the fumes. And still you won't call the doctor!"
"I don't have to," I muttered. "I know what it is."
"So you mean I should have looked it up on the Internet instead?" I asked.
"You're incredible," she said (and I don't think she meant that in a good way). "Maybe, just maybe, if you called the doctor, he could give you something for the pain, it would start feeling better and you'd stop bugging me so much!"
"Hmmm, I hadn't thought about that," I admitted.
"Men!" she said, trying to describe my pitiful display in just a single word. "Men are such babies. Now leave me alone for a while, you've given me a headache."
"Wait!" I exclaimed. "I think I can help. "Hay fever ... head lice ... headaches. Here it is, page 125 ... "
"Oh, please!"
OK, so maybe it isn't a how-to guide to open heart surgery. But my "Healthwise Handbook" is pretty handy nonetheless. After all, it did help me diagnose my sciatica.
Now as for curing my problem, where the heck is Dr. Oba's phone number?
No comments:
Post a Comment