Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Doc, he just hasn't been the same since I took him to see The Ballet Trocadero!
Watch the Ballet Troc's hysterical dying swan!
Can I just vent for a minute? Thanks. You're so sweet. I knew you wouldn't mind.
So do you remember that guy I'm married to? The guy whose "Don't worry so much. It's just probably an ulcer" turned into two months in the hospital and some surgery. The guy whose "They're just stress headaches!" turned into a ten-hour surgery and a diagnosis of a rare blood disorder. Yes, that guy. So now his fractured toe (which would be easily healed by wearing ugly orthotic shoes) has been rediagnosed as a chronic fracture, which means that just by walking on the foot he rebreaks the bone over and over again. And it's not just any old chronic fracture. It's a chronic fracture in a bone that only ballerinas who dance a lot en pointe get. My husband, who has only ever danced with me once, and that was at our wedding, has an arcane injury that only professional dancers get. Well natch.
"What's the treatment for this?" you ask.
"It's SURGERY to get the @#$%ING BONE REMOVED!!!!" (Sorry, I'll lower my voice.) Other people break things and get casts and crutches, and POOF, after a month or so their bones are healed. But not my husband because he's an overachiever that way.
My only consolation is that now I can imagine him getting up in the middle of the night to secretly indulge his long-repressed desire to be a prima ballerina, putting on his pink satin toe shoes and pirouetting through the house while the rest of us sleep.