1 min read


D. hurt his back.

Ok, he hurt his back a couple weeks ago.  I mean, he really hurt his back.

I, of course, have no sympathy for him.  None.  Not a drop.  I just don't have it in me - especially when he whines - because he has refused to do anything about it. Since he wouldn't go to the doctor, call the massage therapist, take a(n) naprosyn, advil, asprin, tramodol, or vicadin, ice/heat therapy or even stretch, I figure he's fair game for pain.

I've been ignoring him and his back pain.

This morning, I walk in from the gym and he says, 'I'd like to see a doctor today'.  It's time to do something about it.   Call the knights to the round table, it's time to move into action!  HURRAY!

An hour on the phone with the insurance company, forty minute drive to the doctor, two hours of waiting to see said doctor, three pharmacies, a half tank of gas, a drooling personal trainer and eight (yes, eight!) hours later, he's sleeping off the muscle relaxers.

And the pain in his back?

It's move to my rear.

Not that I'm whining or anything.