When I was still in college, I would get “stress sick” literally almost every single finals week (or just before). Normally, I could easily (well, relatively) handle my 18-credit-hour load and two part-time jobs, but during finals week, I can count on maybe two fingers the semesters I DIDN’T get sick and/or have nervous breakdowns.
Apparently, life in the “real” adult world hasn’t been much better—
After getting laid up by food poisoning last Tuesday, my week only seemed doomed to go the same way that so many college finals weeks had gone—
I was trying to frantically finish up grading since the end of the trimester was Friday, my husband’s physical therapy applications for all his schools was due Friday, and I was still battling stomach issues and weakness from whatever had given me problems on Tuesday (not to mention having to deal with a bunch of really jittery 7th graders who were just ready for it to be Thanksgiving already).
Basically, I was doomed to the same outcome I’d seen time and again, every December and April:
A serious case of stress sickness (congestion, lightheadedness, stomach cramping, sore throat, the works) and mini sessions of panic and anxiety attacks that seemed to come on—when else?—-always when I was trying to get to sleep.
It didn’t help that the PT school application process was about the most complicated thing I’ve ever had to deal with, nor did it help that less than 24 hours before the deadline, we were running into major glitches that could have cost my husband any chance at all of getting accepted by a school this first year.
I had been praying like a maniac for weeks that it would all work out, and I’ll admit, my faith started getting shaky come Friday morning—everything seemed to be going wrong, and I didn’t see an end in sight. It seemed that we’d wasted so much time and money only to be told that he wouldn’t be able to apply to PT school this year.
Then I got a text from Matt at about noon on Friday (on my lunch break), and lo and behold, everything had miraculously come together—his volunteer hours had been verified by the physical therapist, the errors we had made on the application had finally been taken off, and he had been “magically” able to get in the class he needed next semester without actually having taken the prerequisite.
Years of experience have taught me that my Heavenly Father ALWAYS comes through for me—that if I’ll do my part and have faith, everything will indeed “work together for my good.” I have learned that it is not usually in my timing (almost never, actually), but it always does work out.
Ending of this long story: we were able to submit his application about five hours before the deadline on Friday night, and we went out to celebrate, despite my sniffles and near-fever.
It is SUCH a relief to have those applications done. I was feeling so relieved, in fact, that even all my medical bills coming due and us getting a nail stuck in one of our tires and us having to replace all four tires when we went in on Saturday (because they were getting so bald) didn’t even phase me as much as it normally would have.
It’s stupid really how many times I have to re-learn that I just need to trust that everything will work out in the end.
Do you get “stress sick?”