I Swear

In the movie Witchboard (don’t judge me – I got my own tv and cable when I was 11), part of the deep and enriching plot was the possession of the main character by an evil spirit from the titular ouija board. A sign to those nearest to her of her possession was that she began to swear when previously she would never have uttered such filth. Some days I wonder whether that same spirit possess me. I curse quite a bit and probably have for many years, but I have never been as conscious of it as I am right now.

I wasn’t always cursed with such salty language. I never used those words until I became a teenager and then, it was in moderation. It wasn’t until I became an adult did the words slowly creep into my regular vocabulary and became an occasional fixture in conversation. I have elevated creative cursing into an art form, particularly when driving in my car and happening upon the unfortunate souls who haven’t quite mastered the etiquette of safe road driving. Since becoming pregnant, I fear that my cursing has only become worse in its frequency.

Self-analysis is unavoidable when there is an impressionable three-year-old who wants to parrot one’s every sentence. So, I have made an effort to cut down on the salt in my language, replacing some of my favorites with “darn it.” Even that I try to use judiciously, as cute though it may be, there is just something so wrong-sounding about a three-year-old using that phrase. Case in point: my family reunion. Jeff and I were trying to explain to Jude that by the time the next reunion came around, Sullivan would be there with us. Of course, Jude’s response was “darn it.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

My alone-in-my-car cursing reached a peak over the last couple of days over the results of my latest blood test. I called the doctor’s office to check the results and was informed that I do indeed have gestational diabetes. Preparations were made for me to take classes at the local hospital where I will deliver so I could learn to manage said diabetes and I made plans to go to the pharmacy for a glucose meter. I was really upset, not wanting to hear any more bad news that may affect this baby. Then, just this morning, I received an extremely apologetic call from the doctor’s office, informing me that I do not have gestational diabetes. Apparently, the results for a three hour test need to be read differently than the one hour test, so I was given the wrong results. A talk with the doctor assured me that I am not diabetic. Instant relief, but also a fair amount of invectives for the worry I went through (all after the phone was hung up – I am not one to curse at other people where they can actually hear me). So, doctor’s office, if you are reading this, you really had me worried, darn it.