Neither of my parents ever took swimming lessons, but they always wished they had. Because of this, they were determined to have each and every one of their children enroll. I, myself, hated swimming lessons and begged my parents to let me quit but to no avail. I was forced-dragged really, kicking and screaming. Each summer I dreaded it, but each summer it came.
My shining moment arrived when it was time to do underwater swimming.
The teacher believed, foolishly, that I really could hold my breath the entire length of the pool. I disagreed and told her I wouldn’t do it. She became so frustrated that she finally said, “You’ll swim the length of the pool, or you can get out right now.” I don’t know where I got the strength, but with my chin held high, I marched out of that pool.
It was probably the most defiant moment of my life, and I’m proud of it to this day.
Flash forward to now. I put my big girl pants on and went to the doctor. I explained what was wrong, what past doctors had said, and my family history. I told her that in my expert opinion (Thanks to WebMD) there was nothing to worry about, but if she wanted, she could do this minor surgery that will clear it all up.
Instead, she prescribed two new medications and three more tests for me. I handled it like an adult and told her there was NO WAY I was going to let her do the first test right there and that maybe, if she was lucky, I would do them in the next month. Apparently I haven’t grown out of my childish defiant phase.
So here’s my first opportunity to become fearless. Have I mentioned I don’t like doctors? Deep breaths and lots of Valium. Can’t wait. Blech.