Hy·po·chon·dri·ac - a person who worries too much about his or her health; neurotic
Example: Jennifer Morgan
My dad has called my a hypochondriac before, but I never really took his opinion seriously since the man will use Krazy Glue on whatever ails him. If he injured himself, a glob of Krazy Glue would seal up the wound and avoid a long ER visit. If my dad was stranded on an island, the three items he would need in order to survive would be Krazy Glue, a vice grip and duct tape. If I were ever stranded, I would need my pediatrician's phone number, a cell phone (with unlimited talk time and messaging, of course) and some chocolate. The chocolate is good for your heart, and I want to stay strong and healthy while waiting for Jack Shephard to rescue me.
My daughter has had her share of illnesses, thanks to the petri dish known as daycare. I love the faculty at the daycare, but let's face it, all daycare facilities are a breeding ground of germs passed from one crusted snot-faced child to the next. My daughter may be building up her immunity, but I am losing my mind and becoming what my father always said I was, a hypochondriac.
Once again, my daughter is sick. And this time, like the rest, I have been on the phone with the pediatrician almost every day, a few times a day. I can't help it. I try to fight the urge and keep my fingers occupied, but they have a mind of their own and start dialing the phone before I can protest. My daughter has been sick before and is usually in good spirits. She has always been what I call a "good sick baby." But this go-around has been different. Isabella has been clingy, and lethargic like a rag doll. She has had a continuous fever and a suppressed appetite accompanied with a side of vomiting. My husband and I have never, ever seen her in this state of health before. The very first night she experienced these symptoms, I slept in her room so I could be right by her side. I use the term "sleep" loosely, because I only experienced about two hours of slumber before I became a makeshift bed for my crying baby. While she lay in my arms, I didn't mind the lack of sleep, my only concern was making her comfortable. Though I must admit, the sound of my husband snoring in the next room was a bit grating. Nothing like rubbing it in. Even if I did sleep in my bed, I am not sure I would have actually dozed off. What if Isabella's fever spiked higher? What if she vomited in the middle of the night and I wasn't there to immediately jump up and come to her rescue? What if Isabella was parched and needed a drink of cool water-would my spidey senses work from the other room?
My daughter has started to regain her normal spunky personality and her fever has dropped to the 101 and 102 degree spectrum. The vomiting has subsided, and her appetite is slowly returning. For this round of illness. But what about the next time she is sick with different symptoms that we have never experienced? Will that bring on a new set of panic attacks for me? Probably. I would like to think that when Isabella is 18 years old I may start to worry less about her. But then again, probably not. There will be a whole new set of fears - like where is she, what is she doing, who is she with, and is she making good, smart choices. I imagine the hypochondria trait is heredity, and will likely get passed down to my daughter when she has a baby of her own to worry about.