Monday, June 20, 2011

My Hypochondria's Making It Hard To Hear

Morning Readers,

     Everyone's good at something. For instance, I've noticed some people have the ability to avoid telling the truth at all costs, have a knack for turning old milk cartons into planters, or making tiny sweaters for mice. In my case, I've forever been in possession of the impressive ability to fabricate any and every illness the medical community has ever stumbled upon or made-up for grant purposes. WebMD's ready to revoke my account and Google's stopped returning my searches and begun sending applications for mental hospitals, straight to my email. Husband's grown tired of it, as well, even though this time, I swear something's wrong with me...I think....I'm pretty sure...Bueller..

     I cupped my hand delicately over my right ear, stuck out my bottom lip and summoned the most pained expression I could muster, something crossed with the character Slalieri from the movie Amadeus, and a coyote caught in a bear trap. This time I was serious, and he needed to know it.

     "It hurts."
     Husband looked at me. "What does?"

     "My ear. Can't you tell by the way I'm holding it? I'm not listening for bird calls."

     "Well, what's wrong with it?

     I sighed. "I think I have an ear infection. You know how the baby's got one? I think I have the same thing."

     He raised and eyebrow. "You do realize those aren't contagious, right? That you can't catch an ear infection?"

     I clawed at my ear. "I know that, fool. But I haven't been able to hear out of it for three days and it hurts. At this rate, I'll be deaf by Tuesday, and you'll have to learn sign language with me, and I'll have to learn how to read lips, and you never enunciate, so I'll never even know that you warned me about the bus, right before it hits me.."

     "There's something seriously wrong with you."

     "I know, and I better start sending my paperwork to the School For the Deaf, this weekend, otherwise, I won't get a spot when the semester starts. I hope they don't make me sit in a tiny desk"

     Shaking his head, Husband turned his attention back towards the game. I suppose I couldn't blame him. In the time we've been together he's had the unpleasant task of talking me out of Shingles, Malaria, Cholera, Japanese Encephalitis, Mad Cow, Anemia, Tuberculosis, most mold-born illnesses, and blood poisoning. And that was just in the last month.
      Back when I was trapped in a cubicle, I worked alongside one of my very good friends. She had a touch of the hypochondria as well. Daily, we assured each other that I was most likely dying of sun spots, and she was slowly being taken by a rare strain of the flu.

...I miss her.
     These days, I'm left to diagnose myself and convince Husband I need to see a doctor before he has to raise the children all by himself. He rarely indulges me, anymore. Still, that doesn't change the fact I'm going deaf. And as soon as I finish writing, I'm calling the doctor and requesting they save my hearing. I can't be wrong all the time.
     Husband's gonna be so sad the day I'm actually taken by one of my rare diseases. I can imagine the heartache as he passes my tombstone every Saturday:

Here Lies Paige Kellerman - She Told you She Had Leprosy

Until Next Time Readers!