Oh, Mickey, You're So Fine...
"My chest hurts," I said, fuming on the couch. I think I was having an anxiety attack. Beyond being stressed out from lack of sleep, I had had a few other high stress moments this week. Doc left the room and returned, holding out a teaspoon.
"Here's some cough syrup; maybe it will help you feel better."
I took it and stretched out on the couch with the still-wide awake Lucy. Eventually, she and I both conked out. I woke up at about 12:30 p.m. feeling much better. I was rested and my chest no longer hurt. I still felt like crap from this dang cold, but attitude-wise: much better.
Later that night, after we got the girls to bed Doc and I were talking. I was apologizing for being so cranky and thanked him for letting me sleep that morning; it had really made a difference.
"Well," he said, "That cough syrup I gave you? I crushed up half a Xanax in it. I thought you needed it and I wasn't sure you'd take it."
I must say I was momentarily stunned. Should I be angry that he slipped me a Mickey? Should I feel stupid that he tricked me? No. Once again, he did what was best for me without asking my permission first. I like this take-charge attitude from him every now and then. He doesn't trot it out very often, but when he does, he's swift and stealthy and he's usually right to have done it.
I was beyond rational thought that night. I was also having a panic attack. I probably would have taken the Xanax willingly, but, as I'm sure Doc already figured, I would have felt guilty about it. By slipping it to me on the sly, he gave me several hours of rest in a row that I desperately needed and let me off the hook with my over-active conscience.
You may disagree that it was the right thing to do, in these litigious days, Alice, but I'm glad he did it. Sometimes we must look after others. Sometimes we need looking after, whether we like it or not.