Well, oil's well that ends well, as the great Shakesrear used to say.
My beloved Christian and I are back home from the hospital, snug as two bugs in a rug. As long as those bugs are very rich and the rug is very expensive.
When I got back to my husband's hospital room after visiting with Kate and José, a different doctor was there, Dr. Vinnie Boombatz. He said Christian's personal physician couldn't be there because he was busy "sleeping one off."
"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Grey?" he wanted to know.
"Well, doctor," I began, speaking for Christian as I have always done since the day we were married.
"Please, Mrs. Grey," the doctor told me. "I was speaking to your husband."
"Well, I never!" I sniffed in insulted indignation.
"Or at least until you became too old," he said, and then looked encouragingly at my husband.
"Well, doctor," Christian began, "as you know, my own physician—Dr. Bombay—has spent the last few days performing many an expensive test trying to figure just that out. This hospital stay is costing me a fortune, and I'm not even getting any sex as a result. When a man spends a substantial amount of money, he deserves some nookie. You know, like it is in the dating world."
The doctor waited, and, quite frankly, so did I.
When Christian quit being distracted by a piece of lint floating in the light on the other side of the room, he continued.
"Anyway, at great expense, my own doctor hasn't been able to figure out what grave ailment I have, so, nothing personal, but I'm hard pressed to believe that YOU'LL be able to."
"Well," Dr. Boombatz said, "humor me."
"It's just that no matter where I touch on my body, it hurts," Christian explained to him. "If I touch my head, it hurts. If I touch my foot, it hurts. If I touch my knee, it hurts. It hurts when I touch my neck, or my shoulder, or my arm. My leg. Hurts. My knee. Hurts. My belly. Hurts. Hip, chest, elbow? Hurts, hurts, hurts. Like I've said countless times before, no matter what part of my body I touch, it hurts, and Dr. Bombay just can't figure out why."
"I see," the new physician said. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?"
Christian agreed, and that's exactly what the doctor did.
"I see your problem," the doctor immediately diagnosed.
"YOU DO?" we both yelped in disbelief.
"Yes," he said. "Your finger's broken."