Monday, November 9

Diagnosis: Man-cold

So, Noah's a hero and a lifeline to young inner city children, yadda yadda et cetera somebody hand him the key to the city. I'm sorry, did that come across as a little bitter? Well, IT WAS. This week, in addition to being a hero to dozens millions, he's also a man with a cold. The dreaded man-cold.

This has been EVERYwhere, but it's worth showing again, because this is our life right now, sans the charming English accent.

Noah has had a cough for two weeks. He refused to go to the doctor. This is the classic Symptom Number One of a man-cold: Refusal to obtain medical intervention. Because if one receives treatment from a medical professional, one of two unacceptable things will happen: Either he'll be told that he has a regular cold and should get over it soon, or he'll be given a prescription for modern pharmaceuticals designed to rid him of his reason to complain.

Symptom Number Two: Irrational irritability often accompanied by persistent disagreeability.

Yesterday, the 'rents and I began a discussion about the church we visited together, a church Noah and I have been visiting on and off for about a year. We all agreed that there's a church in Greensboro, about 45 minutes away, that we all feel more comfortable with for a number of reasons. Of course, the drive is a definite downside, both for the toddler we must transport and for the possibility of greater involvement.

However, instead of agreeing to go for a visit to that other church in Greensboro, Noah immediately declared that we could go to whatever church we wanted, but he wouldn't be coming. Not because he disagrees with the church's principles or dislikes the leadership or anything fundamentally troubling, but because he feels that driving that far when there's a perfectly mediocre church nearby is—hold on a second, I want to get this right, so eloquent was his reasoning—ah, yes..."dumb."

Which leads to Symptom Number Three: Inability to hear, not to be confused with actual deafness.

No matter how perfectly I framed my argument for visiting the farther-away church, no matter the ideas my dad threw out for a solution, no logic could penetrate Noah's ear canals, so swollen were they by the insidious man-cold pathogens.

Shortly thereafter, when I realized what was going on (rapid onset of man-cold),  I asked, "Should you not take the day off work tomorrow and go see the doctor?" to which he replied, "No...I'll tough through kids [cough]."

A bit later he did break down and take some NyQuil, after which we bore witness to Symptom Number Four: Sudden sensitivity to medicinal doses of alcohol resulting in near-unconsciousness. I made the mistake of trying to ask a question about the iPod while he languished on his pallet on the couch. It took three attempts to rouse him from his feverish reverie, and then I was accosted for making him repeat himself because "it hurts to talk loud."

I then did the kind thing: I called him a poor little bunny and ordered him to bed.

Needless to say, he did take the day off work and made a doctor appointment. Last I checked (with my mom—I daren't text message him directly), he was napping on the couch.

EDITED TO ADD: Somehow he's convinced the doctor to say he has walking pneumonia. Which means? Indefinite man-cold.


Anonymous said...

You probably ought to update your blog to reflect that he was diagnosed a short while ago with walking pneumonia. So he had good reason to not be feeling good and up to a rousing argument of churchy things! The man cold video is hilarious though and completely not true for us guys. It only applies to the very weakly constituted British!

Dad (and dad-in-law)

Slamdunk said...

Too funny (sorry Noah). It is all giggles until a wayward sneeze infects the rest of you. Then he will become caretaker--still sick or not.

mrs. fuzz said...

Too true! But funny nonetheless. Your blog always makes me happy.

Anonymous said...

Hey Dad and dad-in-law

Enough with the ditz on the British. Remember your wife is British and you will suffer the consequences of such a comment. Poor Noah - He hasn't completely lost his sense of humor, I did hear him laughing at the blog!

Mum (mum-in-law)

Anonymous said...

Ugh, I feel for you ALL.

Dawn said...

"no logic could penetrate Noah's ear canals, so swollen were they by the insidious man-cold pathogens"

One of my favorite blog quotes, EVER.

Anonymous said...

Puleeeez. This is classic stereotyping of non-uterus-bearing members of the human species.

Sure we don't have ovaries. That doesn't make as nancies. A cold can take a lot out of a guy!

Jen said...

Man-colds are the pits! Big babies is what they are :)

We moved 35 miles 7 years ago and left a church we were pretty happy with - not 'regularly' attending, but I could have been very happy going & getting more involved. Love the minister. We are now attending one 5 minutes away that for me doesn't do so much. But we're involved now. I guess I'm waiting to see what happens when the minister retires in a few years. All that to say, it's difficult to balance the practicalities of attending a church almost an hour away against the intangible value you get out of it. Good luck :)

Natalie said...

I laughed SO hard when I saw this on Mrs. Fuzz's blog and was quite pleased to see it again on another LEOW blog.

When the hubs contracted pink eye from the kids, he wouldn't stop rubbing, kept it for nearly a week and then transferred it into the other eye. The kiddies had goopy eyes for about a day each and I never contracted it due to proper preventive techniques. What a pansy, but I guess he's not alone!

Dan said...

Hang on here. Let's look at the facts.



The man is ill. Seriously ill. And yet he's WALKING?

He is a hero of the finest caliber. And you should prostrate yourself at his feet in awe.

Kate said...

Ah, the Man Cold. (I do believe it deserves initial caps.) Let me tell you a quick one, in return for making me guffaw. A few years ago, my husband stood up at the end of a dinner party, raised his great big foot in the air, and promptly stepped on a wineglass. Naturally, he was barefoot, as we are at all wine parties up here in MA. He refused medical attention, preferring to instead moan and alternate between turning beet red and pasty. The pain eventually passed. Months later, as I am in the throes of pregnancy, the pain returned. He has surgery. All is well. Until he looks up his post-surgery symptoms (a little numbness! some--GASP--bruising!) and convinces himself he has gangrene. He was so upset by this Googled discovery that he was unable to talk on the phone to the nurse, who assured me in her best disgusted voice that indeed, he did not have gangrene.

Anonymous said...

You had me utterly in stitches with that video clip and the Sad Tale of Noah.

But I *do* hope he's recovered fully from the pneumonia, as that can't have been very pleasant.

P.S. I found your blog via Slamdunk's. I like it here. I think I'll stick around and read some more of the funny stuff, although technically I should be WORKING! :-)

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