"Fiery Jack, Fiery Jack! It's red-hot on yer back!" - The Toy Dolls
I think I'm dying.
No, really. It's been a week since I suffered a horrible add-a-stick-to-me to my ribs, and the injury is getting worse. At this point, it hurts to do, well . . . anything – and my constant alternating diet of Tylenol and Advil cannot be Atkins friendly.
Of course, being a big, dumb guy, I haven't exactly been nursing myself towards recovery. Work still beckons – sick days are for wussies – and my kids won't pick themselves up now, will they? The result: a heating pad is my constant companion at home, and my uniform has a new accessory – ThermaCare Back Wraps.
I briefly considered going to the hospital last night, but thought better of it. The missus didn't approve, and said that if I was considering playing hockey on Sunday night, she would complicate my existing trauma. Common sense would dictate that I skip the game. Of course, common sense was never my strong point. I'm playing.
Go to the doctor. Don't play hockey. You are not Rod Brind'Amour (quite the gamer). How are you going to chase after stupid drunk people and dumb kids drag racing if you can't steer the car properly? How are you going to escort loser toads to and from prison in the wagon if you can't tighten the safety belt good enough??? Heck one of them might get hung up on the strap and cry "whiplash." Oh, wait....one did. LOL :) Hope you ribs aren't hurting too much to laugh.
ReplyDeleteRT - I know. I'm an ass. Visiting the doctor today is a possibility, since my ribs are still killing me. I feel like I HAVE to play on Sunday, since we'll be shorthanded. It will be a game time decision. (I never said I was smart.)
ReplyDeleteAnd, no, I'm not too hurt to laugh :)