"For real, can I get you a band-aid?"
"Eh, it'll be ok."
So when he called me and told me he was hurting, I knew it was bad. When I saw him hobbled through the door (and heard him, but that would be for a blog with a more adult rating), I really felt his pain.
We spent all afternoon yesterday doing ice packs, 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off, plus anti-inflamatory meds. When he woke up this morning, it looked a ton better (more a medium egg on the side of his foot instead of an extra-large one) and he was able to put a little pressure on it. For now, we have an appointment on Thursday to see the doctor, though I did threaten to pack him up straight to Birmingham or call in an over-the-phone consult from one of my brothers.
"Why don't I just call them?"
"What will they say? 'Does it hurt?' 'Yes.' 'Then you should go get it looked at.'"
"You do have a point..."
Plus B had a slight aversion of calling my brother, who just had heart surgery and (praise God!) is kicking all kinds of tail in his rehab/comeback, picturing that it would go like this.
"Yeah, my ankle kinda hurts. How's your heart doing?"
It made me feel better that a) he was cracking jokes and b) he could see that this wasn't the end of the world. (Obviously he hasn't spent enough time with me when I'm sick to have adopted this lovely quality. I went around with an ice pack all day Sunday because my thumb inexplicably hurt.)
So when you pray, if you pray, or when you light candles, meditate, or do a particularly hard pose in yoga, send one up for B that he feels better soon and that his ankle heals quickly. For those of you who know him, you know that he relieves stress by running or working out. So right now he's studying for the Bar and cooped up. He's being good, but I know he wants out soon!