Firstly I must make it clear that I am not a medical practitioner. I make no claims to know anything useful about health and medicine.
Despite this DH is sulking upstairs because I refused to offer any kind of medical opinion on the teensiest spot of might be blood he insisted on showing me just now. He's been doing something involving squirting water up one nostril and having it all gush out the other, and seems mightily put out that I have no desire to watch him do this. And then he wants me to examine tissues for what may or may not be blood and offer an opinion on what might have caused it. (Note: 'squirting water up your nose probably irritated things' would go down badly).
Apparently I'm unreasonable and unsupportive for not wanting to check out his dirty tissues and for refusing to offer an opinion on what the contents might be (beyond 'if you're worried see the GP on Monday').
So tell me: did I sign up to having to examine body fluids and other vile stuff when I got married, or is it fine to leave that to the GP?
So as not to drip feed: DH very often tries to get me to examine tissues, bits of phlegm he's coughed up, even his bowel movements. I have never shown any desire to do so. He's also a bit of a hypochondriac, tbh. Or, at least, makes the world's biggest song and dance about any and every health issue. To the extent that everyone in the house has to know about him bathing his eye with cooled boiled water and cotton wool because he needs to keep them clean. Even distant relatives have to know all about it. He phoned his poor mother recently because he had to tell her about the panic over a bit of blood in his poo after making me look at it (that was confirmed to be a constipation related injury). My lovely MIL has even less desire to know this stuff than me, but is too polite to tell him to shut up.
For further disclosure: I have an auto-immune, inflammatory arthritis which affects most of my joints and causes serious pain and exhaustion. I feel like I'm coming down with the flu pretty much all the time, and I take serious amounts of strong painkillers to get through the day. I barely mention any of this to DH. Indeed, if I try to get up and let out an involuntary gasp of pain, he usually gasps in pain and actually pretends his slightly dead leg from sitting on the sofa is comparable to or worse than the pain my doctors are happy to hand over opiates on repeat prescription. All of this makes me less than sympathetic about his regular health panics, and really unwilling to examine phlegm.
Surely no court in the land would convict for murder on the competitive pain thing?