Back by Popular Demand....

Hello my fellow pill poppers...back by popular demand is my column about husbands who refuse to go to the doctors. Let me know if you can relate to this. I'd love to hear from some of you! Come back and visit if you'd also like to read "Ugly Belly" about my sexy little muffin top and "Trash Talk" about my shame in having the most trash in the neighborhood every week, despite my attempts at being a good recycler. Again, I'd love to hear your thoughts on these issues. Misery loves company...

An Appointment with Fun

By Sue Tabb

My husband recently informed me that going to the doctor’s office isn’t any fun. I’m glad he shared this with me since I have been under the impression, for a good many years, that going to the doctor’s was a really good time. Doesn’t everyone enjoy a good rectal exam? I’m pretty certain that an ultra sound when your bladder is full and you’re seven months pregnant is about as good as it gets.

I figure since he hasn’t given birth, he has never experienced the real joy that unrelenting, torturous and searing pain can bring to a person. That’s the very definition of fun, isn’t it?

My husband has been suffering from severe allergies for several weeks now and refuses to get checked out by a physician – who might actually be able to help him – because there won’t be a ticker tape parade and some jolly jugglers awaiting his arrival. He will continue to gasp for every breath because there is no musical act in the waiting room or a comedian to entertain him while he endures the unthinkable…opening his mouth and saying “ah.” He may even have to be pricked with tiny needles in order to determine his specific allergies, without so much as a flat-screen TV to keep him amused. (shiver)

I, on the other hand, am supposed to be quite amused and entertained by the snoring, wheezing, coughing, snorting and snuffling that these allergies bring on. This is not supposed to create any problems whatsoever in terms of the rest of the family’s ability to cohabitate with him. But I figure that sleep is overrated anyway. A better use of time is to stay awake all night, hoping the person you love can draw his next breath.

Now I see his point; I’m the one having all the fun.

I thought about just making an appointment with his doctor but I’ve lived through the repercussions of that strategy as it backfires in my face. I’m always the one calling to reschedule, “Yes, that’s right, four years from next Tuesday sounds great. And that’ll give you plenty of time to book a performance by Gwen Stefani so he’s sure to have some fun while he’s there.”

So there are no appointments and I lie awake, hoping that sleep will come or that someone will hit me over the head with a blunt object. Neither ever happens so I generally settle for a good dose of Divine Design on Home and Garden TV. I’m pretty crazy like that.

I’m thinking of staging a protest in order to get my point across to my husband. I could refuse to do anything that isn’t blissfully fun. I will not do laundry, pack lunches, make dinner, make beds, dust or pay bills. I will not water the plants, drive to activities, check homework or vacuum. I will definitely not scrub the toilets since there is no way to spin that as even mildly amusing (especially if you have boys).

This translates into days spent doing nothing but talking on the phone, drinking wine, getting manicures and buying expensive shoes. I could round out the day by reading trashy celebrity magazines and watching Dancing with the Stars. I would occasionally hang out with my children but only when they could come up with something really fun to do.

When my husband asks why the house is crumbling around us and why there is a strange man in the driveway towing the car away, I will tell him the painful secret I’ve been harboring all these years. It isn’t very much fun to pay the bills! I’ve just been pretending all these years but the gig is up. It’s definitely time to rid myself of these joy-robbing activities and start living the good life again.

There’ll be no doctors’ appointments either. That goes without saying. However, if I can convince my husband that Scarlett Johansson will be signing autographs during his next check up, then he just might be able to bear the pain of a thermometer and a blood pressure cuff. But the breathing, particularly the heavy panting, may be a problem.

And that would just ruin all the fun.