Tuesday, September 8, 2009
No rest for the weary for a hypochondriac.
If you hadn't heard, I am a huge hypochondriac. In the last couple years, I really thought that I had overcome this horribly annoying character trait. I was wrong.
Lincoln has awaken the past three mornings with horrible pains in his legs - specifically his calves. He can barely walk to the bathroom and hobbles around like Bilbo Baggins - in his ancient years. Things seem to get better during the course of the day and by the evening, he is outside, climbing trees, running around and riding his bike. Throughout the day and into the night, he walks on his toes, claiming that this is the only way he is able to get around without his legs hurting.
Needless to say, I have been freaking out.
My best friend and confidant, Dr. Google is of no help. Apparently, the doc has informed me that Lincoln has everything from leg paralysis to spinal cord irregularities. (Those could be caused by a frightening variety of things) Of course, the good doctor and I have not ruled out severe neuromuscular diseases and other underlying pathophysiologies. And of course, it could just be some short term soreness or a reaction from a virus, but Dr. Google's research says it's most likely something extremely serious.
I have thus been focusing all my energy on worrying about Lincoln. All day long, every spare moment, every spare thought was spent thinking about my poor, crippled son and his aching legs. Needless to say, when I came home, he was climbing over a fence... but still walking on his toes.
I wish I could summon Mr. Miaggi; he'd know what to do. Probably clap his hands together and rub. Lincoln would be walking with no problem again in seconds. In the mean time, this is pretty much how the conversations with my wife have gone lately:
Cheeseboy: Lincoln is still walking on his toes today.
Wife: Is he? I hadn't even noticed.
Cheeseboy: Yeah, and he had a real hard time getting out of bed. He was really sore.
Wife: Yeah, I am not worried.
Cheeseboy: He said he didn't even play at recess. His legs hurt.
Wife: I will worry when he stops playing after school. Look, he is out there now, jumping on the tramp (FYI, he was not jumping on Paris Hilton)
Cheeseboy: Well, I am worried about him.
Wife: He'll be fine.
---------- 30 minutes later ----------
Cheeseboy: Why do you think his legs are hurting him?
Wife: I don't know. He'll be fine!!!
Cheeseboy: Yeah, but look what Dr. Google has to say.
Wife: I don't care! Don't show me that stuff. He's fine!
------------ 30 minutes later-------------------
Cheeseboy: This article says he may have a neurological disorder.
Wife: I am not talking about this anymore.
Cheeseboy: Do you think we should do a family fast?
Wife: Look outside. He is wrestling his brother.
Wife: [No response]
Wife: I'm done.
Someone help me.