(A pretty picture of a serene landscape. Why can’t my brain be like this?)
I need to stop looking up medical conditions I think I might have. Right now I’m convinced I have the following:
I have my reasons for concern. Just like I had “reason” to be concerned that I had AIDS 20 years ago (I didn’t) and got laughed out of the clinic (because I was so low risk and had been recently tested). There’s a weird thing that happens sometimes that really bothers me – I can hear what sounds like fluid moving from the back of my head to the based of my neck – it sounds constricted and fizzy. I can also slightly feel it. I have no idea what that’s all about. I sure as hell am not going to go to the doctor and ask what it might be. It’s all in my head. Haha. I thought I had good reason to suspect a thyroid problem and had myself tested a couple of years back (as you may remember). I didn’t have a thyroid issue.
Other people were concerned that I might have an issue with bone density considering that I broke my hip when I was thirty five. I got tested for that too and guess what? My bone density is completely normal and healthy.
I hate it when other people have medical concerns for me because they often bring up possible problems I’m having that I hadn’t even thought of before which I then have to look up and become secretly convinced I have. If I’m a hypochondriac then I’ve definitely set some boundaries for myself: I never imagine I’m afflicted with boring easily treated problems. Isn’t your classic idea of a hypochondriac someone who is constantly thinking they’re getting sick with colds, flus, and other common things? I’ve got Poirot in mind. Wearing scarves against a summer chill, excessive use of antibacterial wipes and products, getting what everyone else has the minute he finds out they have it…
I go for things that typically can’t be cured or can’t be cured without horribly invasive procedures and lifestyle changes that include feeding tubes or portable oxygen.
I just looked up the official definition of hypochondria and if Poirot has hypochondria then his case is very mild. I have to say that I’m pretty textbook except that I try not to talk about my fears of illness all the time to friends and family or my doctor because I’m aware of my tendency to obsess over what I think are dire symptoms and I don’t like to be made to feel ridiculous about them. So usually I either keep it to myself or make a big joke about it as I did with the leg dent incident.
Here’s what I’m telling myself right now: I’m probably going to be dead within the next year or two. That Filipino palm reader I worked with at Radio Shack who said I would live a long life was obviously not wearing much needed glasses. So if I’m going to die soon, I shouldn’t spend my time looking up all the things I could be dying from. Instead I should just enjoy the scenery and clean up my dog’s corn cob vomit and go sit with my kid.
(I hope my family isn’t reading this because they have the same problem I do* and if I admit to medical concerns they’ll take them up with anxious enthusiasm. They are not a reassuring bunch.)
*I’m not actually sure they’re aware of this.