Why are men SO stupid or Why I became an Axe Murderer

Let me say for the record that I love my husband, the Original Obnoxious One, and my son, the Obnoxious One, very, very much – they are without a doubt two of the most wonderful males on the planet. (with the exception of my Dad of course…and George Clooney…and Daniel Craig ) But after the family vacation from hell/paradise over New Year’s, each member of my family needed a little R & R…on their own.

This past weekend was going to be heavenly. My boys were taking off for a few days of skiing and male bonding at Whistler and my daughter was sleeping over at a friend’s house. I planned to catch up on my reading and writing – and respond to the wonderful honour of receiving the Versatile Blogger Award from the amazing Tales of the Motherland.  I also planned to catch up on my wine drinking and bubble bathing  and…

then I was going to cook an incredibly delicious gourmet dinner  before sending my son back to university.

It was a good plan.

It was a great plan.

But it was foiled by my husband, the Original Obnoxious One. I spoke to the two boys the first night and was rather concerned to hear that my husband had had a panic attack that morning when the Obnoxious One dragged him down some scary runs on the mountain.

Then on the last day of my partially marred bliss, while contemplating menus, I received a frantic phone call from my son. Turns out that while traversing a glacier, my husband had another panic attack, this time accompanied by chest pains, difficulty breathing, and a foggy mental state. So even though my husband has a history of dangerous blood clots (he’s been hospitalized twice for blood clots in the lungs, a potentially fatal situation) did they call a ski patrol for first aid?

No, of course not.

They skied down the mountain. Oh they added a couple extra stops along the way – like whenever the Original Obnoxious One couldn’t get a breath, which was every 15 feet or so. And they did download at the mid-point. How clever.

And they did ask for a doctor/medic once they returned to their hotel. How lovely.

And then my husband wanted to drive home himself two hours down the Sea to Sky Highway in the fog and the rain. Yeah, really!

Luckily the folks in the Whistler Emergency Centre wouldn’t let him drive – nope, they put him in an ambulance that transferred him down to the North Vancouver hospital. Where he stayed the night in the ER. Where they pumped him full of drugs. Where they did tons of tests including blood work and CAT scans and X-rays and …

So my son had to pack up and drive down, while I sat at home and worried…and bit my nails…and worried…and pulled out my hair. Fortunately he and the car made it home in one piece. As for my husband…turns out it was his heart the doctors were most concerned about, because it was beating irregularly; but, they couldn’t rule out a blood clot. So he stayed the night in the ER.

Guess what? The nice family dinner didn’t happen – we were all too busy wringing our hands in the ER waiting to hear the verdict. My son had a morning flight to Toronto the next day, so he and I dragged ourselves out of bed at some early, ungodly hour. Luckily check-in at the airport was fairly easy. On the way home I drove straight to the hospital. After a couple of hours of waiting, they let my husband go, but with a portable heart monitor to follow his every heart beat for the next 24 hours. Apparently the atrial fibrillation had passed and he was “all better”. Right.

So I broached the subject of work on Monday. ‘You’re not going into the office tomorrow are you?”

“Of course I am. I have a very busy day and I wasn’t there Thursday afternoon or Friday.” translation: I’m far too important to take any more time off.

“But can’t you just work from home in the morning?”

“Totally out of the question.” I’m Mr. Important after all.

“But you’re going to take it easy, right?”

“Sure”  Famous last words.

Because  Age 50 + constant stress + mega work hours + caffeine + alcohol = NOT smart

This morning he called me from the office and said that he’d had a great sleep last night and thought he would go for a workout  – that means spend half hour on the bike pumping furiously, followed by weight lifting for another half hour or so.

“Are you crazy? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Well I haven’t been to the gym for a few days.”

“Yeah, because you were in the hospital, you idiot!”

A couple hours later he called me again. “Well, I just had a big workout and I feel great. I’m still alive.”

Next time I’m NOT going to wait for the heart fibrillation or blood clot to get him. Nope, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.

REALLY!

P.S. My son called to let us know that he forgot his keys to his residence as well as his passport. Oh, and Air Canada lost his baggage. Good thing I can get my hands on 2 axes.

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