Friday, January 20, 2012

life with a worry wart...

Unbeknownst to me, I married a Worry Wart. I have recently concluded it is a genetic trait, and expectantly making an effort to be at peace with the situation. Partly because I have long known you can't change other people, and also due to the fact that it's too late to start over. Not that I have even the least bit of interest in starting over at this date/age/stage: I have been saying for many years that I believe I have filled my quota in the spousal department.

For the longest time I thought he was truly interested in where I was going, what I was doing, what my plans were for a particular period of time. (Or worse: trying to mind my business!?) But now I think he just mostly wants to know:
A). when I will be on the road, so he will know how long he has to be concerned about my safety while I am driving.
B). when I will be back to see that he is called to the table at meal time without him having to do anything other than show up.
So IF  I agree to call him upon reaching my destination and consistently ring the dinner bell, I think he has finally figured out I can pretty much take care of myself.

He has told me over the years that his mother was historically a worrier. But I never stopped to consider it might be genetic. I guess maybe it could be? He, the retired guy, with almost never a plan for the day, or any events on his calendar (that he keeps on his phone in his pocket - funny that it is now so conveniently available/accessible, without need of desk calendars/daily planners - and he has virtually nothing to notate!) other than 'leventy-dozen doctors' apponitments with a multitude of specialists he sees on a regular basis for various and sundry body parts. I was making a list recently of all the different practices he visits, and lost count (not so difficult for the arithmetically impaired to do) but I actually ran out of fingers as I tried to tick off all the doctors he deals with on a regular/rotating basis. All of whom routinely question him about the care and feeding of the various organs they have expertise with - and likely all get the same answer: 'Oh, I'm fine!".

Which is pretty much what I am planning to give as my answer: 'Oh, he's just fine', having decided this the best response/course of action when people I encounter ask me about 'how's he doin'?  I conclude people don't Really Want to Know about all your aliments, aches, pains, aging process - they are mostly just being  polite without actually wanting to devote their time to having a conversation, especially about personal health issues within some other persons' person.

But he is a worrier: more so since he has so much time on his hands to devote to such a project that requires no physical effort or power tools. So I am going to make a conscious effort to respond to those requests:
Call me when you get there?
Let me know you are safely at your destination so I can stop fretting?
Check in to let me know you are o.k.?
Be sure you tell me when you arrive?
I might be so unconcerned I will be taking a nap, but do give me a call to notify you are safe?
By remembering to make the call before I even get out of the car... now that I consider that he got that from his mother, and he, bless-his-heart, can't help himself.

No comments:

Post a Comment