If you were following my blog back before Easter, you may remember that I gave up fear for Lent this year. In the past, I’ve given up things like candy and French fries, which, the day after Easter, I went right back to enjoying. But fear, I hoped, would be something I could continue to live without.
Of course, I can’t. But I have become more conscious of how it crops up in my life. I try not to say things like, “I’m afraid this cake is going to stick to the pan.” Or “I’m afraid we haven’t saved enough for retirement.” And I’m working on identifying what frightens me so I can tackle it head on.
So, when I went in for my annual check-up, I knew my doctor would probably for the umpteenth time, suggest I get a T-DAP shot. I had politely declined over and over, which she apparently failed to note in my file. Or maybe she did note it with a big red circle to indicate that she needed to keep after me.
Now, it’s not the needle that scares me. It’s the stuff that squirts through the needle to lodge somewhere under my flesh and have who knows what effect on me. I mean, it’s viruses. Dead or no, this just seems like asking for trouble.
But honestly, a shot that can protect me from tetanus, diphtheria, and whooping-cough is probably I good thing. Which is scarier: getting a shot that almost certainly won’t hurt me or walking around in a world where diseases are making a resurgence? Sigh. So when she asked me, I said, “sure,” all light-hearted like it was no big deal.
I got the shot. And other than feeling like I’d done a few extra reps with some hand weights the next day nothing happened. I didn’t have some weird reaction. I didn’t get whooping-cough. I didn’t even think about it much.
Did God want me to get a T-DAP shot? I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t want me to agonize over whether or not to get one every time I went in for a check-up. I’m pretty sure there are other places he can use all that energy I waste being afraid.