Concern and lost irons -- things that are driving me crazy

So my mother would be quick to tsk, tsk this particular post for several reasons. So I put that warning out there -- don't judge me too harshly.
Two things are making crazy right now.
The first -- I can't find my iron. I've looked every where. My house at a cursory glance is in order (well a very quick glance). But really it's a wreck. Michael moved in with me a few months ago right before I started taking 10 hours of classes and working 40 hours a week. Needless to say, I didn't have a ton of time to get things in order. And admittedly, I have a lot of crap. Most of it isn't worth a cent. I've lived and traveled to several countries and have a lot of mementos I've picked up along the way. Also, I'm a giant pack-rat! So all of those things have contributed to the fact that I can't find my iron.
I've looked everywhere -- dug through closets, looked under beds, unpacked Rubbermaid tubs stacked in the sun room and looked in all the probable spots. No luck! I'm sure a new iron won't cost too much, but I want to find MINE. And I want it now. I've got all the needed supplies for my next project (a present for Evan Otis, it's a surprise) and an iron is required. Bah!
The other thing weighing on me... concern. I know, it seems so sweet and nice and wonderful doesn't it!
Eh... I'm over it.
Am I an ungrateful brat?
I tire, though, of hearing, "Are you OK?" "How are you feeling?"
I know those sentiments are sincere and the asker has the best intentions. I get it. I am Sicky McSickerson. But for weeks after every hospital/ER stay/visit it is a cacophony of these questions/concerns. And then there are others who go even further than the occasional question.
I've had friends who have been on the verge of calling the police or fire department when they couldn't get me on the phone. I have a friend who every time he hears on the police scanner, "woman unconscious at ..." he calls and says, "are you at...?" And if I haven't returned a phone call within 15 minutes instead of thinking, "oh, she must be walking the dog" the first thought is, "Oh no, she's passed out somewhere bleeding. I have to leave work and drive there now!"
I'm sure I'm being hypocritical. I'm the first one to make up a fun comfort package full of crayons, a princess crown, play-doh, plastic bugs and dart guns for a sick co-worker or friend. I'm also the one who organizes the get well card and goes to the hospital to pass along all of our well wishes! And I'm sure I ask the dreaded questions too.
So, yeah, I'm a hypocrite, but I'm OK with it.
As bratty as it sounds, I think the concern bothers me because it reminds me that I'll always be labeled as the sick one. When my Peace Corps friends categorized everyone during our reunion, the joke about me was around the passing out (in Bangladesh is when all this started so they too were exposed to it) and when we came up with jokes about each of the reporters for a joke newsletter mine also was associated with it. I guess I just don't want to be known only as that. I want people to forget about it! (Maybe it'll go away then!)
I'm working on it. I'm working on taking it as it is meant and not getting resentful.
So forgive me if I don't eagerly reply to your concern. I'll try.
And just so you know, I'm feeling kind of crappy right now!