Case in point, two nights ago I had a minor cramp in my left leg that progressively got worse to the point of alarm. At first I was sure it was my sciatic nerve (the nerve which runs down the buttocks and back of legs that often is compressed by the growing uterus during pregnancy and causes pain). Of course, I looked it up...on fourteen different websites...and read accounts of those who experienced sciatic nerve pain...and put on my fake nerd glasses, got out the graph paper, and made a statistical chart. I determined that because of the location and nature of the pain I was in, there was a mere five percent chance that what I was experiencing was related to nerve compression.
Sciatic Nerve
Most women said pain from their sciatic nerve felt sharp, shooting, and running along their buttock down the back of their leg for a small amount of time. My pain was more constant, dull at first then intense and throbbing and it was mostly in my foot and calf. I went back to the drawing board. Ten minutes later I was all...
Odin's Raven!
I was sure I had a blood clot. My shoddy little graph backed it up. I had all the symptoms, most of my family members die from blood clots traveling to their brains and hearts, I'd been an inactive lazy ass for the past two weeks, and the fact that I have a mini human hanging out inside me doubled my risk factors. I immediately sent Mars a text saying that I had to go to the hospital...better safe than sorry. Two minutes later I sent him another text saying I was going to have a hot shower and a short walk first to see if my condition improved. He said he'd be home soon either way. It was about 10:30. Two hours later the pain hadn't improved and my foot was beginning to go numb but I was still unsure about going to the hospital. I hate going to the hospital. It's expensive, the doctors belittle me, it's cold, the decor is not my style and it smells like robot urine. Oh, and most of the time, there's nothing seriously wrong with me enough to justify a hospital visit.
Mars casually strolls in around the time my moral dilemma was causing me to chant little Buddhist hymns face down into my pillow. He asks me if I'm doing better, I do the little low warning growl that doggies do, he says he guesses not. He asks if he can touch me, I arrr at him like a pirate, so he gives me a foot massage. I tell him I don't know what to do, that the pain isn't unbearable but it's extremely concerning. He tells me he's not concerned.
EXCUSE ME?!
That it's no big deal.
WHAT???!
That it is because I am mad at him that my leg hurts.
BO-O-O-O-OY!
That little straw that runs from one side of my mind to the other broke and I could not believe him, I was fed up, I looked at his face and imagined my fist in it for a few moments before I...calmly....explained that this was NOT about him and it was incredulous for him to believe as such. That this could possibly be a life threatening condition for both me and his unborn child and for him not to see that made me question his compassion, sense of duty, ability to father, or that he was even human. He tells me to stop worrying and takes a shower.
I didn't go to the hospital. Walking hurt and I wanted to stay in bed and not have to talk to Mars anymore. I woke up the next morning and realized that he was right. My leg pain was completely gone. I was unwilling to admit that I was mad at him, that he had that kind of power over me. But the truth was, the first thing he said to me when he got home from work earlier that day was tactless and I didn't want to hear it, so I retorted with something he didn't want to hear and it pissed him off so he left me all alone, shirking the household duties he said he'd complete, and opted instead to spend his night drinking beers with his friends. Well, of course I was mad at him. But for it to make my leg cramp to the point where I thought I had a blood clot, well...I guess it is typical of me and I guess he had a guilty conscience and I guess he really does know me that well.
I've got to find a better way to deal with people pissing me off.....
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