Keep Your Hands to Yourself!

I willingly admit that I have a problem.  I am a germaphobe. During the outbreak of swine flu two years ago, my kids knew to patiently hold out their hands for a good dousing of Purell whenever we got back into the car from being in a public place.  That dousing was followed by a more thorough hand washing upon our arrival home. Not wanting to make them into mini versions of me, I just told them that this was one of mommy's quirks and to just bear with me. Whenever, I meet friends at the park to let our children play together, we spend five minutes detoxing our hands when we are done, while my friends speed away, as only carefree non-germaphobes can do. Don't even get me started on the supply of wet wipes that I go through when we visit Disney World now. The first two trips down there, at least one, if not both of my children got sick on our vacations.  When you spend a year planning a trip you don't want to spend much of it in the hotel room, at least not a family vacation at Disney World.  The third time we went, I got wise, and wiped down all ride handles and bars and all tables before even sitting down.  My eldest tends to bite her nails,which is a habit that makes me physically want to hurl as I contemplate all of the things that could be living under her fingernails. Ugh! Now, I know some germ exposure is actually supposed to be good for us, but knowing that still does not stop the obsessive need I have to conquer and destroy the unseen enemy.

I tell you this backstory for only one reason, and that is to give you a frame of reference for the situation I found myself facing today. This morning, I met with my potentially unstable specialist. While I was waiting in the exam room, my door was open,  and I heard him leave the patient he was working with then saw him enter, at a rather hurried pace, a room across the hall from me.  I casually wondered if that was his office. However, I did not have to wonder for long, as the building walls are FAR from sound proof.  Um yeah, he was going to the bathroom.  Here lies the problem, the walls were very thin, so I could hear EVERYTHING, including the absence of water being run for handwashing, the quick flush, and the immediate reappearance in the hallway.  Deep breaths.  Okay, so I didn't have to actually touch him.  I would be okay. That was my mantra until he arrived.  Afraid that he might want to shake my hand upon entering my exam room, I tucked them firmly beneath my legs.  Cordial pleasantries went off without a hitch.  He reviewed my charts, checked my breathing and heart, which I tolerated well since clothing separated me from his hands. He asked about my stress levels, I said things were getting better....BAD MOVE.  He wanted to high five me! Crap. It felt like everything was in slow motion, as I stared at his hand suspended in air.  Quickly, I was trying to determine which hand would be the most offensive hand to touch. If I recalled correctly it is usually considered to be the LEFT hand that is the "unclean" hand in other cultures.  I relaxed slightly, as I noted it was his right hand in the air. I did the quickest high five I could, and tucked my hands beneath my legs again. He asked me another question, which I answered in a positive way, which led to another high five.  Argh!  This time it was his left hand in the air. I tried staring him down to kind of say, "okay we have done this already", but he kept his hand hanging there near my face. This was not going to end well for me. Finally, as he waited expectantly I did a quick "off center" high five with his left hand, missing more hand than I actually touched, and shuddered. Much to my chagrin, all my Germ-X and Purell bottles in the car were empty!  Seriously?!  On a day when I needed them most? I could not wait to find some blessed soap and a sink with warm water, or in this case, scalding hot water. The life of a germaphobe is not an easy one.