As some of you know, I’ve spent most of this week down for the count. I fell ill with a fever and symptoms of an infection at the same time, which knocked me flat for nearly two days (and since I’m writing this from the third day, let me tell you, I’m still a sorry sight). Finally, knowing that I wasn’t going to be getting over this one on my own, I let my loved ones drag me to the doctor’s office.

Yes, drag. Even though I knew I needed to go, I held them off for two whole days when any normal human person would have conceded. I have always hated going to see the doctor.

It used to be, when I was younger, that I hated doctor visits because I almost always ended up getting a shot or 12, plus a bottle of chalky medicine that (I assure you) tasted nothing like bubble gum. It smelled funny, all the kids in the waiting room were sick and I hated needles. You’d think that was a solid enough case against the place that mom and dad would never take me back, but they did. I’m glad they did.

Nowadays, I still have a whole bunch of reasons to hate the doctor’s office. While the sterile smell is now comforting to me and needles aren’t really so bad anymore either, everyone in the waiting room is still sick (way sicker than me – I am going to catch all the germs), it takes half an hour to fill out the inquisition forms on the clip board, I get super sweaty (read: super attractive) the whole time I’m in the place and for an uninsured 30-something like me, the issue of cost is always dangling over my head like a guillotine.

As if I didn’t feel sick enough (and if I am in a doctor’s office, I am probably ¾ dead already, merely running on pure, fearful adrenaline), medical costs add up fast. Today, there was a fee for a visit, but a fee for lab work will be soon to follow. Then of course, there are the prescriptions (not bubble gum-flavored – I checked) that I need so that I can start feeling better instead of, like this. But calling the pharmacist to ask about the cost of the medicine and hearing "Oh, honey. You don't want to know," doesn't really do it for me. It kind of makes me want to call a hardware store and get the price for a shovel instead.

So, if you or someone you love suffers from anxiety about going to the doctor, let them know that I understand. Their fears are justified in my book. I get it! But here's a little something for them, too:

Please, go to the doctor. If you're feeling that poorly, you probably can't kick this one by yourself. You might need medicine. You might have an infection, and antibiotics might be the best way to treat it. If your loved ones are trying to drag you, let them. They care about you! And if they're that worried, they might be on to something.

Thank you to everyone who has been praying for me and checking up on my progress. And a special thank you to my husband, who has been keeping me comfortable and cared for. I love you guys.