Dentist Appointments and Stomach Flus
When I was a little kid, I was a total hypochondriac. You know, the type of ten-year-old who would find out that a toddler at church had the stomach flu and would immediately start suffering from nausea and high fever. Never mind the fact that kid sat four rows behind us and never spoke to me. That was absolutely not important. What was important was the fact that someone was sick, and therefore I must be sick, and so my stomach started to hurt.
It was pretty bad.
I obviously needed this book:
One time, I remember being under the impression that I had strep throat or something, because a girl at my dance class had it, and I rolled around in bed all day and claimed I couldn’t go help at the local food bank, where I’d promised to work every Wednesday afternoon. Well, my dad wasn’t having any of that, so he pulled me out of bed, told me to brush my hair and get in the car because I wasn’t sick and he wasn’t going to let me claim I was. You should have seen the look on the manager of the food bank’s face when he heard about my “miraculous recovery”. I didn’t hear the end of that story for years.
You may wonder why I’m telling you about this now. I really have no idea, except for maybe the fact that I am totally over my hypochondriac days and I am very proud of myself for it. That’s right, I am no longer paranoid of being sick all the time. My mom has some kind of flu-ish thing today, and I was totally willing to sit with her in the car for an hour to go to the dentist, which is not something I ever would have done back when I was Little Miss Paranoid. True, I was thankful when she decided to cancel her trip to the dentist and stay home (for more reasons than one—I hate the dentist with a burning passion), but still. I would have gone. So that counts for something, right?
I think it’s always good when you can admit to something that you struggle with, work on it for a long time, and then, by the grace of God, overcome it. Being terrified of getting sick was always something that struck absolute fear into my heart when I was younger. And even though the idea of catching the flu isn’t exactly appealing to me anymore, it doesn’t ruin my day any longer. Instead, I’m just worried about my mom and trying to make sure I can do whatever it takes to make her feel better.
Obviously, there are still things that need to be worked on in this family, though. Like our ever-present pessimism. You know it’s bad when you grab the keys off the counter and call for your sisters only to hear your mom weakly protest from the bedroom, “Rachel, only take Hannah to the library with you. If something were to happen, I would still want one daughter left.” And she was dead serious. True story.