Shannon sat in the back seat grumbling under his breath, indignant for this latest round of family-sponsored molly-coddling. His leg, swollen and bruised rested uncomfortably on the backseat. Each bump along the roadside — already mottled with winter-forced cracks and potholes — triggered another painful diatribe on why doctors suck and how his body is in fact invulnerable. I smiled. Mom simply tutted at each whispered curse, replenishing her rebuttals for the next explosion of rhetoric . . .
“I haven’t broken anything! It’s just a sprain. Throw a little ice on it and it’ll be fine in a day or two. Drown out the pain with work and alcohol. A doctor’s office and a sober mind . . . just like health insurance: ain’t worth a damn thing.” Continue reading