sublimating the medical history

So… I have started to freak out. This is natural, I suppose. Considering how much I have traveled you would think I would be used to it. But no. Mostly I’m displacing my anxiety on last minute forms that need filling out (that sentence originally read “Mostly, I’m sublimating my anxiety…” until my father informed me that it was wrong wrong wrong) and being nervous that my visa hasn’t gone through yet. Not that there is any reason why my visa would have gone through at this point. But still…
When I went backpacking I freaked out about getting a back pack.
And when I went to Berlin I just withdrew from my friends for a month.
So yeah, this is all part of a long noble lineage of me-not-dealing-with-my-feelings. What else is new?
Anyway, I had to get another copy of my medical history filled out (don’t ask why) and the doctors office was being an evil wench. I got up at 8:30 so I could be there right when they opened (and if you know me, you know that’s a big deal). They said they couldn’t get to it until the afternoon. I went back at 4:00 and they said they couldn’t get to it until Monday. I tried informing them that I would be in New York on Monday, that NYU was threatening to not register me for classes until I got this form in, that if there was any any any way, they could get to it, that if they would just give me my file, I would fill it in---
“We can’t give you your file.” (Side note: why not? It’s my file isn’t it?)
“But, this is really important. I know it was my screw up but…”
:: cue tears::
“I’m sorry, is there anyone you can have come pick it up on Monday?”
I leave.
Defeated.
My mom calls me “so you got that form right?”
I explain the situation, how I'm trying not to freak out, how dad talked me down from the tree of panic.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Ma, its 4:55, they're about to go home. I tried everything I could do.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Later my mom comes home, marches upstairs, and proudly gives me an envelope with my medical history.
I don’t know how she did it. But she did.
Moral of the story: never send a daughter to do a mother’s job.