Having A Doctor In The Family Isn't As Helpful As You Might Think

On Friday, I noticed that a lymph node under my jaw was swollen.  Earlier in the week, I'd noticed a red and itchy spot on my neck where something had bitten me.  I assumed the two were probably connected.  The next morning, though, the swelling was much worse.  Seeing as I tend toward hypochondria anyhow, I quizzed my doctor husband.  He, as usual, was unconcerned.  He, as usual, dismissed it as possibly being something viral.  He knows I hate being told that.  (Ok, sure, I once paged him at work to tell him I was positive I had anthrax.  That one did turn out to be a virus, actually.)

We had the following conversation over breakfast:

Me: Don't forget about the bite on my neck....maybe some kind of spider bit me.  Maybe it was a brown recluse!

Him:  They don't live around here.

Me:  But this isn't normal.

Him:  Does the floor of your mouth feel ok?

Me: (panicking slightly and poking around with my tongue) I think so. Yes.  Why?  What does that mean?

Him:  Just making sure you don't have any sort of infection there.

Me:  Well, what symptoms should I look out for?

Him: (without looking up from the newspaper) Difficulty breathing.

Me: (trying unsuccessfully not to shriek)  What? Don't say that!  That's not funny!  Why would you say that when you know you're leaving town tomorrow?  What am I going to do?

Him: (finally turning to look at me and speaking in a voice usually reserved for slow children):  Do you want me to show you where the 9 and the 1 are on the phone?