Me, Worrying

The most pitiful thing about me is that I am a worrier. Not warrior. That would be cool.
No, I am worrying. Constantly, about everything. It's not always justified.

Tomorrow is trash day. OMG, did I take out the trash or will I have to sit on stinky leftovers for another week or two?
Did I make a mistake with the salary statement I submitted? Will they think I did it deliberately? Will they be mean to me in jail?
Why does my car make these strange noises? Should I really continue ignoring that flashing control light?
Did I tip the lady in the bakery enough?
(In case she hands out the poisoned bread to unfriendly no-tip customers!)

I could think of a million other trivial things.

Interestingly enough all those minor concerns dissolve into nothingness when there is one giant reason sitting on my chest. I can't eat nor sleep. My husband is sick. He has severe stomach cramps. He is vomiting nonstop. Even the water he drinks doesn't stay inside. There is nothing left in his system but he still can't stop. What if it's an ulcer?
Or something else with c?
I am not worried anymore. By now, it's full-blown panic.