Alternatively, sick woman vs sick man.

Yes.  Go ahead and roll your eyes for this is yet another post about the superiority and strength of the weaker sex – the woman. You know, those of us who behave irrationally because our hormones make us act like a rabid dog.  The woman.  The crier.

Here is a picture of my daily existence:

For those of you not overly familiar with all things spine related, this is a basic x-ray of my spine.  Or what is left of my spine.  Each day is a joyous exercise in spasms, sciatica and mind-crushing pain.  I’m truly fortunate that I am currently able to postpone the inevitable ALIF surgery.  While I may feel older than dirt, I’m a little too young for such drastic measures.

On a good day, I have back pain.  On a not-so-good day, I have the back pain and whatever ailment is ravaging my body.  Be it a cold, dengue fever, malaria, sinusitis, ears that won’t work or a really angry menstrual cycle, I’m left to manage it.  Sometimes, I get to do all of this while my husband is travelling, leaving me to care for the Milkfaced toddler by my bad self.  Quite the conundrum when your orthopaedic surgeon strongly advises against lifting anything heavier than five pounds.

This is really hard work when you’re suffering from the above *and* you are stuck dragging around that cross and having a crown of thorns poking your scalp.  Alas, I am woman.  I will do.  Then I will spend your money out of spite and frustration.

Men, on the other hand, take an entirely different approach to illness.  THE WORLD GRINDS TO A FUCKING HALT.  A hangnail may require an amputation.  A runny nose and a fever requires hospitalization in a plastic bubble with an IV.  A stomach bug – oh just get the fuck out of the way.  The man is vomiting, for fuck’s sake.  Food is coming out of the wrong orifice!!!  This is a horrible fate and means death must be near (let’s completely overlook the first trimester of pregnancy when all the mommy does is spew).

Dock falls ill two or three times a year.  Most of the time it’s a nasty cold or a headache (hey – I never said I was easy to live with). Unfortunately for all of Raleigh, this time he has the pukes.  Milky and I have both had the pukes this week so it’s a safe assumption that he caught whatever bug we had been hosting and that he hasn’t been poisoned by some decaying morsel that he would sooner eat than throw out.

A sick Dock is a marginally useless Dock.  I have seen this throughout the years but nothing quite like seeing a pancake in the sink. I presume that my husband was far too weak to make the three steps to the garbage bin and press down on the lever that opens the lid. Profuse vomiting can render the strongest man to the feeblest 90 year old woman.

This post isn’t meant as an indictment.  Dock is genuinely ill and I do feel (somewhat) horribly for him.  My intent is to paint a picture of the male patient and how poorly they handle being sick.  The Earth needs to freeze in its orbit until male feels better.  It’s just the way it’s supposed to be.

Back at the ranch, the woman with the deteriorating spine will somehow manage to get the laundry done, shower and unclog the kitchen sink (I don’t believe that is pancake related).  Then she will manage to wrestle herself onto the sofa, cross, crown of thorns and all and ponder the injustices of the world.