Saturday, May 09, 2009

A brief and recent history of illness

A few weeks ago - maybe even last week, though at this point, the days and weeks all just blur together and have found that I am losing my grip on temporal things - Mike checked out the new produce market in our neighborhood. For those of you that aren't familiar with our neighborhood, we really don't have any viable options for shopping. Sure, there are corner stores and bodegas, and down near the historic cemetery, there's a "marketplace" (though at a two-bus ride or 3+ mile round trip walk, it's not convenient. Plus, there are only so many Fuji apples one can eat...), and we've got a couple of pharmacies. But, there's no grocery store. There are grocery stores within driving distance, though we don't have a daily driver of a car.

Anyway, we were excited to see a produce market open closer to the house - if nothing else, we'd be able to stroll the 4 blocks to the market and back whenever we wanted to. Mike, finding himself home alone (I was either working or hanging out with my mom), checked the place out and pronounced it awful - but not before buying some apples, oranges, and a bag of seedless grapes. He started in on the grapes immediately, and it wasn't until he got to the last few in the bag that he made a somewhat gross discovery - when trying to pull the stem off of one of the grapes, he realized he was tugging on a worm. He immediately chucked the remaining half-dozen grapes, but was likewise immediately convinced he'd consumed who-knows-how-many worms.

Our discussion when I got home that night went something like this:
Mike: I have worms.
Me: What?
Mike: Yeah, you need to take me to the vet.
Mike: The vet needs to get rid of my worms for me.
Me: You do realize that you could go to a people-doctor for worms?
Mike: But vets deal with worms all the time!!!
Me: You don't have worms.
Mike: Yuh-huh! I ate them! They're in my belly!

Later, Mike: Maybe they're eels.

Like with most of my husband's claims of ailment, I laughed and humored him. Getting home after work, I'd ask him how his worms were. Swimming at the Y, I'd ask if the eels were restless. I even asked him, one night, if he had the urge to drag his bare butt across the rug. He may be insane, but I'm right there with him.

He emailed me yesterday to let me know that his "worms have no concept of what day it is. I'm pretty sure they're celebrating Cinco de Mayo right now, even though they shouldn't be." Likely translation? He had gas....

After biking through the last 8-10 days of Philadelphia rain, Mike's developed a bit of the sniffles: sore throat, ache-y, sneeze-y, and so on. Of course, he's convinced that he has the Swine Flu, though he's taken to calling it the hiney flu (H1N1). He's further convinced that the worms in his belly are somehow involved in this head case and is currently planning tactics for eradicating the worms. I have no idea what that means. As I was getting ready for work, all I could hear was him moaning, "Woooooooooormmmmmmmmmmmmms!!!" Then, he'd shuffle by, tissues in hand, shaking his head. When I left, he was prone on the couch, the cats peering at him quizzically. I have no idea what to expect when I get home from work, though I suppose bringing home some gummy worms is not the best idea today.

1 comment:

Stitch Witch said...

This has the potential to be serious. If he had worms and just because he doesn't start dragging his bum, he may start to casing cars.