I don’t have to worry about no one missing me because my mom calls me every day (usually to tell me the weather in my town) and would call out the national guard (and very nearly has) if I failed to respond in a timely fashion.
But there was a time when my husband was away for the weekend at a convention, when I hurt my back (note: do not pick strawberries while wearing an 18 lb. baby in a front carrier). I was caring for a (18lb) 6 month old and a 3 year old. I wasn’t totally incapacitated, but I was afraid I was headed in that direction and called my husband and begged him to come home, but it took him almost a day to do so.
Within hours of him coming home, I couldn’t walk. That was really scary, and, as it turns out, completely temporary. But I had to spend a whole night on our basement floor because that’s where I fell and I couldn’t get up (and any attempt at help from my husband was as painful as any attempt by me to get up).
What if that had happened while I was alone with my kids? I guess being conscious would go a long way (Bring me the phone! No the phone! Stop throwing cheerios! THE PHONE!).
Heck, I worry about stuff like this and I’m only nineteen and don’t see children in my immediate future. Of course, I’m diabetic, so Steel Magnolias totally freaked me out and made me think about not having kids at all, just to avoid a situation like that. Then I talked to my specialists, and they told me that the odds of that happening, as long as I kept my glycosolated hemoglobin in the safe range were ridiculously small. That doesn’t mean I still don’t worry about the weird crap that might happen to me while I’m pregnant and consequently harm the baby, though.
Right now, though, my (totally irrational) fears mostly center around having an insulin reaction and not being found for a couple days, as it’s really not unusual for my roommate and I not to talk to each other for that long, what with our class schedules and all. If our bedroom doors are closed, then we don’t bother each other. I really wouldn’t be that scared if it wasn’t for the ridiculously low blood sugar I had while studying for finals that I chalked up to being overtired. I almost took a nap but realized I couldn’t feel my lips or tongue and that I totally walked into a wall.
I get the obsessive worrying thing from my mother, I know. I remember waking up as a child with her in my room, to make sure I hadn’t stopped breathing or choked on my own vomit. It’s completely natural for parents to worry about their children. I’d be concerned if I didn’t have a little frissons of fear when I read about things like that.
[QUOTE=Fujerica]
oh yes, I worry about that stuff ALL THE TIME. What really helps to think about it all the GOOD stories where it could have been bad but turned out really good.
For instance: I recall a Rescue 911 episode where a mom fell unconcious and her 2 (or maybe 3?) year old called 911… And the medics came and were able to save her. Even though I doubt my kids would think about doing that, it makes me very concious of the impotance of training them to handle some stuff.
[\QUOTE]
I have a pretty grim imagination too, but no kids. Wasn’t going to respond, but this reminded me of something that made me laugh out loud…
When I was about 6 or 7, my dad said “What will you do if you ever find me laying on the floor, bleeding.”
And I immediately responded, “I’d call 262-8915 (may or may not be accurate numter)” Why that number? Because it was the ambulence chasing law firm that advertised during the day time soaps with the slogan “if you’re ever in an accident, and you need assistance, call Robert Devry and associates…”
Moral of the story? Make sure the kid knows the difference between the ambulence and the ambulence chasers…
Hee, that is pretty funny pepper. I can just imagine the lawyers face when he gets some six year old kid calling him up asking for help.
And Lucretia–my god! That is horrific. I’m so glad the AF has instituted a policy so that, hopefully, they don’t ever have something like that happen again. Those poor little girls. I guess that’s why this bothers me so much–because I find it all too easy to put myself in the place of the players in these tragedies. Little children alone, confused, hungry, scared. A father returning to find a scene that NO ONE should ever have to even imagine, let alone live through. And it’s not anybody’s fault really–just those freak accidents and occurences that all add up to disaster. No one to blame, no one to punish, just heartbreak and regrets for all involved. I can all too easily see how it could happen and it scares the shit out of me.
Thanks to everyone for all the replies. I am much reassured to hear that I’m not being totally unreasonable. I plan to talk to my boss today about calling my family if I pull a no-call, no-show.
Same here… I’ve always had a pretty good imagination, but it turns ugly when I worry about things that could happen to my kids. I’ve considered Pitting my brain a few times, after it gave me a particularly vivid flash of something nasty happening to them, so strong that it brought tears to my eyes immediately, or made me sick to my stomach, or both.
I was weirded out by the public restroom scenario (which only ran in my head…over and over and over…). I’d stand outside having lengthy conversations with him while he peed. “Don’t touch anything!” “Are you still there?” “Hurry up! You don’t need to spend that much time washing your hands!” And I made him come in with me for a pretty long time. Maybe 8 or 9 years old. I had a real fear of Mr. Stranger-Danger.
I don’t tell this story very often, and I’m still not very religious, but here goes.
About 17 years ago, when my son was two, I was a single mom with a bigtime cocaine addiction. I was shooting up almost every day, even though I had broken up with my equally addicted boyfriend, in an attempt to quit the shit.
You lose all track of time while doing it, especially while alone, (my son was asleep) and I got pretty freakin’ close to OD’ing I think. I had a “vision.” Jesus showed me a picture of me laying on the floor dead, with my 2-year-old poking me and saying “Mama, wake up.” I don’t know if it was really Jesus, or just an hallucination, but it doesn’t matter. I quit doing coke.
After that, I really didn’t worry about dying and leaving him alone any more.
I have no children, but I worry about this kind of stuff anyway.
Its the whole, “what if I were to die” scenario.
My husband did die. He was ill with diabeties, and the Steel Magnolias movie just showed me something I had already seen, but it was still horrifying on film. Even more horrifying in person.
I called him every day, all day. It happened anyway.
I can’t go into that now.
Anyway,
Now, I have made plans and arrangements. If something were to happen to me, at least my family would be in better shape than I was, when it happened to me. Once I could afford it, I bought life insurance and various policies, so if I were to die in a accident or by illness, at least they would be taken care of, at least financially.
I (sometimes) thank god I don’t have any dependents. I think I would be a terrible worry wart.
The idea of letting your employers know that if you don’t turn up for work, there is a serious problem is a very good one. My dad died over a weekend eleven years ago and on that Monday when he didn’t show up for work, a few of his coworkers went to his place to find out if he was okay. Obviously he wasn’t, but I am thankful to those people anyway. My dad was VERY reliable about work and stuff, and I’m guessing that when he didn’t answer the phone they got really worried.
When my son was a baby, we lived in a rental house with a gorgeous brick fireplace that we used maybe four times in two years. I was terrified of having a fire when we were home alone, being single that was nearly all the time. It wasn’t the fear that the fire would somehow leap out of control and rush at us or something, just the regular what if I fall and hit my head and there’s fire available to explore?
I once brained myself on an open cupboard door, opened the door to get a lid for something in the oven and stood back up right into the corner of the door and knocked myself out cold. He was just under two years old at the time and naturally spazzed out because Mommy was laying inert on the kitchen floor and bleeding profusely. Luckily, the phone happened to ring and he ‘answered’ it, my sister was greeted with a screaming child instead of ‘hello’ so she immediately drove over. I was awake by the time she arrived, he’d been comforted and everything was fine…but the what if’s from that little scenario cost me many nights sleep.
