On Worrying

My husband says I worry too much. My husband says there's no sense in worrying because it's not going to change anything. My husband says worrying will give me an ulcer which will give me something else to worry about. I know better. I worry about an almost endless number of things, some trivial, some not so trivial. I worry about money. I worry about not getting enough sleep. I worry about spending too much time charting and neglecting my patients. I worry about spending too much time with my patients and neglecting my charting.I worry about whether or not my son's helmet will really protect him when he gets hit by a car, about unexpected guests finding dust cats under my bed, and about getting an autoimmune disorder that the Drs can't fix. I worry about hurricanes. I worry about checking out at the grocery store and not having enough money and having to put the cookies back. I worry that my diet buddy will see me buying the cookies.
Furthermore, although I'd like to think that we're at least in reach of equality between the sexes, some things will always be unequal and worrying is one of them. Women, at least most women, worry more than men and they worry about more things. As I sit and worry about breast cancer, world peace, over-extending my credit limit, and whether my cat really loves me or is just pretending, my husband's main concern is that they may pre-empt "Lost" for the President's speech.
Another example of the inequality of worrying is vacation. It's always the woman who wonders if she's shut off that stove burner or locked the door. It's always the woman who worries about getting lost. Her husband, on the other hand, is never concerned about getting lost, even though he often does not know where he is.
I'm a Labor and Delivery nurse and I carry in our car, an emergency delivery kit just in case we run into a woman giving birth on the side of the road (Hey, it happens!). The bag contains a clean blanket and towel, a wrapped newspaper, 2 umbilical cord clamps, a suction bulb and sterile gloves. My spouse thinks this is absolutely hysterical.
However, on the way to an important business function last week, my husband somehow ripped open the seam of his jacket when he was getting out of the car. I took those cord clamps and fastened the two seams together on the inside of the jacket.
"You see," I said to him, "and you laughed at me for carrying these".
My husband just smiled and walked into the restaurant. I worried about whether or not the clamps would hold.