RebeccaPriceJanney.com

Okay, this is really embarrassing. I’m about to admit something I dislike about myself to anyone who will listen. I am an “expert” with historical dates–ask me just about any well known date in American history, and I’ll tell it to you. I know them about as well as I know my own birthday and anniversary, as well as the birthdays of my loved ones.

However–gulp–I cannot keep my own dates straight from day to day! I routinely show up for appointments only to be told, “Uh, Rebecca, you’re due here tomorrow,” or “Rebecca, you’re an hour late,” or “Rebecca, that was yesterday. Where were you?”

A few weeks ago, we showed up for church on a day in which the two services were to be combined. Afterwards there was to be a covered dish luncheon, and there I stood with my huge salad wondering where everyone was. It turned out we were an hour off, and a week away–I got the date wrong, again.

Today I was scheduled to do a radio show that I very much wanted to be part of. Then I discovered, again at the last minute, that my son had no school today, and there was no one to babysit while I was on the air. Ugh. I cancelled, unwilling to take a risk that my son, who hates it while I’m on the phone and who is even now pretending to type while I do this, would be able to remain quiet while I answered profound questions. (“Mama! I gotta pee!”)

Okay, so what’s wrong with me anyway? I hope no one suggests that it’s a function of aging! I’d rather be thought a quirky genius!

I woke up this morning grumbling. Why is it that the respiratory illness that started a week ago is still hanging on? Why is it that my little boy is still coughing and wheezing in spite of two doctor visits and daily nebulizer treatments? I want my normal life back!

Of course, being the historian that I am, I immediately began to think about those hearty souls who first came to America, as well as those a century and more later who “tamed the wilderness.” They were, according to Dr. Peter Lillback, a “premedical society.” When they got sick, they had no doctors to go to. (Of course, later on in American history, you could always consult a barber if you had a medical complaint.) They had no 24 hour pharmacies or a plethora of cold remedies. They had to keep on working, or their survival would be in jeopardy. Illness was often more than an inconvenience–it could be life threatening.

And yet, they accepted that life was hard. They knew they could die from an accute sickness. They knew they were “dust.”

That being said, I think I have a grip now! This congestion will pass. Thanks be to God!