I never thought I would become one of those people. The kind of person that readily sends her husband off to the doctor or admonishes her friends and family for not seeing someone about their sniffles, but chooses the "ignore it and it'll go away" approach for herself.
Since my father's illness, anytime he so much as coughs in my presence I suggest he see someone. You know, just in case. I worry endlessly about my mother's mental health (I think she's taking on too much) or my grandmother's most recent fall (move to a damn assisted living facility already!). But if something seems off in my own body, I prefer to ignore the symptom(s) until they improve. Which, so far, they mostly always do. Oh, I see a gynecologist promptly for my yearly exam (I am forced to, to get a renewal for my anti-baby prescription), see my dentist without fail every six months, and see my eye doctor after the requisite two-year interval, but everything else, well...it'll surely go away. If I'm sick, I will gladly stay home from work and sip ginger ale, but I probably won't crawl out of my pajamas to see someone with an expensive degree and prescription pad. It isn't the cost (though medical costs nowadays are outrageous, even with insurance), but it's more the effort and not wanting to seem like a hypochondriac at every little sniffle or sprain. In addition, I haven't actually had a regular general doctor since high school...
This leads to some exasperation on the part of Husband. For instance, I let a cold (probably a sinus infection?) go without seeing anyone until I had a double ear infection and essentially became deaf for two weeks.
Most recently, my allergies have shifted into high gear. I go nowhere without a handkerchief and spend most of my days sniffling away, peering through puffy eyes, interrupted intermittently with violent sneezing fits and furious body scratching. Husband and I both saw an allergist two years ago, but I let my prescription lapse. Husband readily went back and received several prescriptions that have all but eliminated the plague of his allergies, but I have been steadfastly refusing, in spite of his admonitions and cajoling and threats of divorce (kidding. Maybe.). I have lived with allergies for my entire life, so I've gotten used to ignoring them, but they are smacking me in the face with a vengeance this year, and so I am breaking down and going back to the allergist to request some kind of witch magic or assisted suicide.
So, there, Husband. Are you happy now? You win. As usual!