At least I did when I was about 12. I was a clever child, top of the class sort of material. And therefore I figured that the only thing I was meant to be was a doctor or a lawyer. (Of course, I couldn’t have been that clever if I thought those were the only two careers open to me!)
Trouble with being a lawyer was that I wasn’t much good at arguments. I tended (and still do) to get very emotional at the first sign of confrontation, and even now you will find that I won’t complain about bad customer service, or send food back in a restaurant (I’m aware that this isn’t the only quality a lawyer is desired to have, but remember this is my 12 year old self you’re talking to).
So I would HAVE to be a doctor.
Now, technically I might have made an okay doctor. Where I would’ve failed would be the nursing aspect of it. Empathy is not my strong point. In fact I would go so far as to say that I am really quite a selfish nurse, particularly with The Hub. I’m not exactly sure why. I think that maybe 50% is due to concern that the patient is in pain, (could it be something serious?) and the other 50% is impatience. I don’t want you to be ill, I have things planned, this is messing it all up, it can’t be that bad, yada yada.
Give me a crisis and I can handle it. I will organise people. If you slash your finger with a broken glass, I will talk to you calmly, have a plan, and everything will be fine.
In other situations though, its different. I’m a borderline emetophobe. I’m not so bad that I think about it all the time and it seriously impinges on my life, but for example, if a drunk gets on the bus, my one concern is that he/she will vomit. Sometimes I get off the bus early as it bothers me that much. If you feel sick near me, please don’t expect me to help, I will probably be heading for the nearest exit.
Poor Dino Girl was ill last week. She managed to decorate a shop in town (who were very kind and understanding about it all) and then took a few days to recover. By Friday I was a nervous wreck and she must’ve been completely fed up with me, constantly asking if she was okay, waking up at the slightest sound coming from their room. Finally, she was better. Phew.
But then it started again with The Hub.
When The Hub is ill, I feel a sense of injustice. If he is ill, as he has been from Friday until today, he can come home from work and get into bed until he feels better. Me? Not so much. Unless I am ill on a weekend, I still have to get up and at the very least make sure the children are fed and don’t kill themselves, or each other. Its just not fair. I want someone to look after me. *stamps feet* (see, I told you I was selfish)
The thing is, I wouldn’t change a thing about our set up. I know that I am very lucky that this is our lifestyle, and I do not have to take a job outside of the home.
But when illness strikes, well I tend to get a bit wistful. Just allow me this little pity party won’t you?
And be thankful that I never did actually become a doctor.
(At 12, I was also going to never get married. I would live with a man until I got bored of him and then move on to the next one, probably every few months. Just like that. I remember informing my unmarried aunt of this whilst standing in my grandparents bedroom. She was not impressed (not sure whether it was due to my impending ‘loose’ lifestyle, or if she thought I was passing comment on her marital status).
I have been with The Hub for 19 years now, which is half of my life, so that didn’t really pan out, did it?)