Time heals all wounds

If guys were in charge of giving birth, there is a fairly good chance that babies would not be born in hospitals very often. Rather, they would be born in bowling alleys, on the golf course, at work. Basically, wherever the baby decided, “ENOUGH! I’m outta here.”
That is because most guys are like me, and find that the best medical treatment is to not think about it, and engage in something healthy and distracting such as going to a football game.
I know I do it. And I know the guy who came to my house to fix a leaky pipe did. The line from under the sink that goes to the ice maker had decided to no longer work, and after two feeble attempts at plumbing repair, I called in someone to do it for me.
When he arrived, he told me that I was his last stop for the day. Since this was about 10 a.m., I said, “Half day?”
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna head to the emergency room when I’m done here.”
He proceeded to tell me that he had cracked a tooth up under his gum, and he had developed an abscess in his sinus, and he was in intense pain. I was in intense pain listening to it, so I can only imagine what it actually felt like.
Now, a sensible person would have said, “Hey, I have a searing pain in my face – I better go see a professional.” But guys are not sensible, and so he said, “Well, since I’m on this side of town, lemme knock this one out.”
I have a similar track record. I am the one who drove myself to the doctor prior to being admitted to the cardiac ward with an irregular heartbeat a few years back. The off-beat had been going on all day, but I was under the assumption that ignoring it would make it go away.
And then there was my friend Joe who had a terrible pain in his ear a few years back. Did he go to the doctor? No, he went golfing, because you don’t miss a tee-time. He later found out he had, wedged inside his head, a spider. Yes, an actual spider that came out with a little help from some baby oil.
A couple of weeks ago, my wife noticed that I had been grimacing on occasion. She asked what was wrong. I told her that my stomach had been hurting. She asked for how long. I told her about 10 days. Based on her reaction, I feel it is safe to say that 10 days is slightly beyond the length of time you should let a stomach ache linger.
So I went to the doctor and told him what the problem was. He ordered a series of tests, scans, pokes, prods and such. One concern that he had was a gall bladder issue. He went over some signs to be on the lookout for, and told me to call him or go to the ER if my eyes turned yellow. If there is one thing that does not need to be said, it is “Call a doctor if your eyes turn yellow.” Even I can figure that one out.
So all of my tests and scans came back and it basically said I was fit as a fiddle, healthy as a horse, quick as a wink. OK, not the last one. Speed was not measured. But everything else seemed fine.
At that point, I was given a series of medicines to make my stomach feel better, which had now been hurting for about two weeks. Some of the stuff seemed to help, at least easing the time between when it would hurt.
So I woke up the other morning and told my wife that my stomach was hurting again. She asked if I had been taking my medicine. I told her yes. She asked if I had been taking it like I was supposed to. I said nothing.
She then went on what can only be described as an hours-long rant about how I needed to take the medicine, and how I felt better when I took it, and there was a reason they said to take ALL of the medicine.
“I tried,” I told her.
She wasn’t buying.
So I go back to the doctor soon, and I will sheepishly confess that the medicine seemed to be working, that I possibly did not adhere to it in the strictest of regimens. I am fairly sure I will get a bad mark on my permanent chart. But honesty is the best policy. Well, second best policy. The best, of course, is to hope it magically goes away between now and then.