Smug and Only Slightly Sorry For It

Despite the very sound advice I've been doling out on automatic repeat with mounting frustration and annoyance for months - quite possibly even a year! -, Greg has pigheadedly refused to heed my suggestions or even acknowledge the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I might be right on this one.

No, forget the fact that I've run two marathons and countless other races and have dealt with knee problems many times in the past. Forget the fact that I've sought much advice from friends who also happen to be physical therapists. Forget that I've followed that advice and self-corrected my own knee problems. I couldn't possibly have anything worthwhile to say on the subject...

(Hear that? That's the sound of me bashing my head against a brick wall.)

So after the last soccer game when his knees were killing him and he was hobbling and grimacing and groaning, he finally broke down and made an appointment with the bone & joint doc. About damn time! If he wouldn't listen to me, maybe he'd listen to an M.D.

Yesterday I accompanied him to that examination for two reasons:

1. the doc's office is near campus so I could hitch a ride rather than catching the bus, and
   
2. I wanted an unfiltered, straight-from-the-horse's-mouth account of the doc's prognosis and prescription.

Call me paranoid or untrusting, but I had a feeling what the doctor was going to say, I wanted to be there to witness it first-hand.

The prognosis: Greg has a loose ligaments that don't provide enough knee support for all the running and soccer-ing we do. That's right, soccer-ing.

The prescription: Anti-inflammatories, ice and adductor & thigh exercises to strengthen those muscles that support the knee

And as the doc said this, I tried - I really tried - to suppress that smug, know-it-all grin of righteous vindication that creeped across my face. But it was no use. I couldn't help it, folks, because that, the advice that Greg sought out and just paid Godknowshowmuch for, is EXACTLY what I'd been telling him since our softball days last summer!

When? When is he going to accept the fact that I am always, ALWAYS right?