In the spring of the year 2010, I found myself in the offices of my favorite internist on more occasions than I would like to recall. I had no specific complaints, such as my foot hurting or my head hurting, but rather I told the internist that I simply felt lousy, lousy, lousy. The internist did what internists have always done. At first they order blood tests. My blood tests showed that everything was normal.
So the internist referred me to a lung specialist. I made two trips to the lung specialist, including a breathing test, and passed all of them. But I still felt lousy.
So the internist then referred me to an allergist. He prescribed a medication that relieved my breathing problems but stopped urination. Given a choice between breathing and urination, I opted for urination.
It seems to me that there was one other referral made by the internist but I can’t remember what that one was. Finally the internist must have suspected that at 88 years, I was responding to voices from outer space. On that final occasion, the internist recommended that I should go see a psychiatrist.
It was difficult to find the office of the psychiatrist but eventually it was located. The first visit was getting to know each other. The second visit had to do with getting down to business. By the time the third visit took place, I had come to the conclusion that there was no point in seeing the psychiatrist any more. Apparently, he had come to the same conclusion.
But he did offer this one gem that has stuck with me ever since my visit. I told the psychiatrist, among other things, that I had the feeling that I was taking cold that would lead to pneumonia, or that I was falling. The psychiatrist answered by saying, “It hasn’t happened yet.”
I believe that I had told the psychiatrist that for the first 70 missions that I flew in World War II, I wore my parachute harness which was a bit of a bother. On the 71th mission, we were shot down and it was necessary to use that parachute harness finally. I told the psychiatrist that my fear of catching cold and falling down was well founded just as the fear of being shot down justified my wearing that parachute harness for the first 70 missions.
The psychiatrist was never a soldier and therefore never appreciated my thought about wearing the parachute harness. Instead, he simply repeated to me in connection with my current concerns, “It hasn’t happened yet.”
I made three trips to the psychiatrist’s office and came away with one thought in my pocket. That thought was, “It hasn’t happened yet.” As time goes on, when I have a fear of falling or being hit by a missile or being struck by thunder, I can always recall that it hasn’t happened yet. While I did not think much of going to the psychiatrist, I find that his advice that it hasn’t happened yet was well founded.
So I offer this thought to you. If you go through life saying that it has not happened yet, you will save yourself trips to the hard-to-find psychiatrist’s office and the money you save will be devoted to other matters that you enjoy. I am happy to be of service to my readers in this regard. Remember that when you suspect danger, you should always repeat the thought that it hasn’t happened yet. I find myself quoting those lines repeatedly these days and in fact it seems to work. So remember it hasn’t happened yet, and for all we know it may never happen.
Final thought. After the experience with the psychiatrist, I had some problems that required me to visit a neurologist. The first thing she did was to order a blood test during which it was disclosed that on one hand, the level of vitamin B-6 was high at five times the upper limit. On the other hand, the level of vitamin B-12 was quite low. When I made adjustments for these two vitamins, the experience of feeling lousy, lousy, lousy disappeared. In the end, I suspect, that the best advice I can give anyone is to go see their neurologist before seeing any psychiatrist.
E. E. CARR
July 1, 2011
Essay 560
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Kevin’s commentary: In a rare twist ending, Pop totally got pneumonia here in 2013. So it has happened. And now it’s okay again. I’m not sure of the philosophical implications of its happening, but especially in conjunction with the parachute scenario maybe an essay entitled “It happened, but all is well” is in order.