I’ve been called overdramatic. All of my life I’ve been called overdramatic, but I’m NOT overdramatic. I get excited, I get sad, I get happy, I get frustrated, I may be extreme, but I’m NOT overdramatic.
Within 10 minutes of getting to the hospital and hearing the doctor say the words “extremely grim”… in a sentence…those two words next to each other… I called my mom and I said two words, “Please come”. We were at the hospital for only 10 minutes, but I wanted my mom and my dad there. RIGHT NOW!
What was the worst that could happen? They would fly all of the way from California to Indianapolis and waste an airline ticket, because once they got there Shaundi was all better happy and healthy?
I didn’t want them to think I was being over dramatic in asking them to come, to drop their lives in California and jump on a plane and rush my side, to my child’s side. I wanted them there for me, I wanted them there for Shaundi.
There was that tiny thought in the back of my mind that mom and dad will come and they will make everything all better…And in the end, when she woke up and was breathing and her heart was beating and her blood was running quickly through her veins, her eyes open, pupils dilated — then my parents could say, “You’re so over dramatic! Why did you call us here when she’s just fine?” And I would forgive them for saying so and then I would let them call me overdramatic for my whole life.
If only that was the truth. If only I had been overdramatic and my parents rushed across the country simply to visit a child in the hospital, a child who we were scared for but was well. Then, THEN I would except the label overdramatic.
I would wear it proudly.