Kimra Traynor Herb

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Kimra Traynor Herb
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The “worry gene”

I have this gene. I inherited it from my mother's side of the family. I call it "the worry gene." This "worry gene" is a most unfortunate genetic legacy I have inherited. Next to "the Traynor thighs" the "Maurer worry gene" is a curse beyond words. While I can spend hours at the gym to counteract the giant thighs that want to burgeon on my person; there is little I can do, short of medication, for my worrying. It's beginning to be a real problem.

When we bike, my husband, my friend Kathy and I are a team. My husband's job is to forge ahead, set the pace, and to make all mechanical repairs on the bikes. Kathy's job is to scope out the terrain, tell me when it is clear to turn (I haven't yet mastered turning around as I ride) and to give me advice for pacing myself and when to hydrate, etc. My job, (and it has been pointed out numerous times by both my hubby and Kathy) is to worry.

"What if it rains?" I worry. "What if there are a lot of rocks on the road?" "I think that it is supposed to be brutally hot- how will be survive?" "There certainly are a lot of cars on that road; I am not sure it is safe for us to ride on that road. What if we get hit by a car?"

These are just some of my riding worries. But they go on: "How am I going to get unclipped from my pedals in time to make that stop sign?" (I actually wrecked my bike worrying about that one- a long story). My all time favorite worry, though, and this is a doozy, "What if no one comes to visit me when I am in the hospital?"

This confounded my husband. "What are you talking about?" He queried, when I first posed the question to him.

"You know, when I wreck my bike or get hit by a car, what if no one comes and visits me?"
He stared at me long and hard with a very puzzled face. "Why do you assume you will be in the hospital at some point?"

I gave him the "duh" face and reminded him of all the hazards and dangers that without me, no one, apparently, would remember to fear.

"Uhhh." He managed. He probably wanted to throw me directly into the straight jacket at this point and have me sedated but the whole "better or worse" part of the vows probably kicked into his thought process. "Who would you WANT to come visit you?"

"You know, " I said, "Church friends, friends from cycle class at the gym..... you would tell people at cycle class that I was in the hospital so they could come visit..... wouldn't you?" Then I had a new worry: "Oh my gosh, what about my face? I can't have everyone visiting me with my face all ugly and broken to bits!"
This was too much for him. "We'll have to play it by ear." He finally said. "If your face is mutilated beyond recognition, you don't have to have people come visit you."

This appeased me; somewhat, but then I mentally fussed, "Well, what am I going to do all day in the hospital with no visitors?" Sometimes I really have to keep my worries to myself because I am the only one who really understands the inner workings of my mind.

I worry that I am never going to be cured of this worrying. My mother and my aunt worry continually, only both of them worries that the other one is getting worse every day. I try so hard to push that niggling doubt or worse case scenario deep down inside, but ultimately, it always surfaces.
Usually, I keep my most horrible worries to myself; but I share enough of them with those close to me that they pretty much think I am ready for the ward. The psycho ward. The other day when a bad thunderstorm erupted while my son was driving home from work (I was planning the funeral in my head and boy howdy was I depressed and upset) I let it slip that I was worried he was going to get in a terrible wreck. Problem is, I revealed this worry to a mere acquaintance. A woman who had no idea (until that moment) that I was capable of such irrational and devastating worry. "Why would you assume the worst?" She inquired, genuinely disturbed.

"I can't help myself!" I shrieked, with all the angst of an alcoholic admitting their problem for the first time. "I am a WORRIER!"

It's a real problem for me, and I am really worried that I will never recover from my continual worries. A genetic curse; a legacy of worry. And they taught us in science class that only physical attributes like curly hair and blue eyes can be passed from generation to generation.