Worry will make you old before your time, my daddy liked to tell me. After a lifetime of marriage to my mother, I often thought his was the true voice of experience. If anybody had known worry, it was my daddy.
This past weekend as I canceled my plans, rearranged my schedule and left work early to care for the small brown dog - she had reacted badly to her annual vaccinations and I spent the entire weekend feeding her baby aspirin and applying warm compresses to her tender sides, the slightest touch brought a bright yelp of pain - I thought of my daddy's advice and wished I was better able to follow it. By Saturday night, the black dog was limping as well though I couldn't tell if she actually hurt or was simply competing for attention but by Sunday it didn't matter since I was wild with worry over the pair of them, badly sleep deprived, and in no mood for advice. Take a breath, my vet told me calmly, Are they better than yesterday? When I had to admit they were - marginally - she again told me not to overreact and that it would pass. And get some rest, she added sternly, They'll both be fine. And by this morning, they were - the small brown dog sleeping peacefully on my pillow and the black dog joyfully chasing the cats to distraction, no sign of a limp. I was exhausted and irritable, having wasted a perfectly good weekend's worth of worry over nothing, paying interest on a debt that wasn't due.
Worry is better saved up and stored under a mattress for the times that you really need it.
No comments:
Post a Comment