My body was steering the car along the road en route to the doctor’s appointment. But my mind was screaming, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU FOOL! TURN THE CAR AROUND! GO HOME!”
It was a trip to the dermatologist for a procedure I knew would be painful. The adult in me said it was the right thing to do, but the child in me wanted to hide in the trunk.
I’ve decided it was easier when I was younger. Mom or dad would take me to a doctor’s or dentist’s appointment (and I’ve always had phobias of both because I’m terrified of needles), and I’d sit angry and scared in the car – mad at the world, even mad at my parents for making me go even though some small part of me knew it was for my own good. But I didn’t have a choice. These adults were forcing me.
Now that I’m older, I do have a choice. Since November, I’ve had 2 doctor’s appointments and 7 dentist appointments. SEVEN, thanks to a root canal and two crowns. I could have ignored the dull pain in my jaw and the dentist wouldn’t have known about the root problems. I didn’t have to get the crowns. The dentist suggested it, but he couldn’t make me. My doctor’s visits – completely voluntary.
But I went anyway. I guess that means I’m an adult – at least on the outside. But I still kick and scream on the inside, and I probably always will.