Sunday, 14 May 2006

Ill men and new therapists

Good news! My poor depressed boyfriend has a new therapist! Officially! And it's not me!

If you feel ill, take a pill...
He went to see this very nice woman nearby and she offered a choice of psychoanalysis, psychodynamic work and cognitive-behavioural therapy.

Which J happily went for "because it's the most economical option" and because we both agree that sitting around and feeling the pain doesn't really do much for him.

I am not expecting everything to be fixed overnight, but it's just heartbreaking to see someone you love constantly feeling sad, and I am hoping that with concrete goal setting and support he can start allowing himself to feel better.

Right. Now that I got the 'see, I'm a caring girlfriend' part out of the way, can I just say, men are such cowards when it comes to illness!

At the moment, for instance, J has a cold. And he's whining complaining 24-7 and eating paracetamol like it's going out of fashion.

OK, so he has a runny nose, slightly sore throat, sneezing and a congestion-related headache, but no temperature and it's not as if it's a proper flu or he can't swallow or anything.

To his credit he's doing quite well with the feeling ill-thing, so well that I've refrained from demanding sex as I usually would and am as a result unbearably horny and checking out every guy I pass on the way in to work and back.

But I don't get it. What is it with men that they have to lie down and feel sorry for themselves as soon as a little virus strikes them?

I know it's been said many times before, but I swear, if men had periods, then either a) something would have been invented to eradicate them with no side effects or b) the world would grind to a complete halt 1/4 of the time while they huddled next to the hot water bottle at home, living off ibuprofen.

My dad's the same. If I have a hangover, he's all "hero at night, hero in the morning" (meaning if you're drinking you have to be tough enough not to let on that you're in pain the next day)at me.

But if he's been out, he'll get up early, yes, but then crawl back into bed for a 'nap' at about 1130 in the morning, and any noise completely sets him off because "his head hurts".

Not to mention if he sees blood. Any kind of bleeding, even from a scratch, and he'll basically feel faint and be forced to leave the room.

Needless to say my mum had to shoulder most of the responsibility for first aid when we were kids. How embarrassing...

Maybe I feel annoyed about it because I'm secretly bitter about not allowing myself to complain when I feel ill.

I had no sick days at all through elementary school, and then there was only one single time when my mum had to pick me up in her car at 14 because my period pain was so bad my legs were literally buckling underneath me.

I hardly ever call in sick.

J, to his credit again, doesn't call in sick, but sometimes I think it's just because he knows more sympathy will be given in the office than at home when I'm really patient and chicken-soup making for about 2 days, then give up and tell him to stop whining.

Is this kind of cowardice something I can conspire with the CBT-psychologist to fix, or do I just have to resign myself to the fact that small headache = large complaints?

3 comments:

  1. Thanks for letting me "check in" for the week!:)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank You for the reciepe. I love it.
    I posted it with a link back here and also added you to our guest betty links.
    Thanks again.

    ReplyDelete
  3. To you both: The pleasure is all mine!

    ReplyDelete

Thanks for not just lurking..

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