My husband would tell you that I've always been just a teeny bit of a hypochondriac. Nothing major, mind you, but I would always say stuff like, "Do you think I have that?" etc, etc. One of the problems that comes with knowing a little more anatomy, etc, than your husband (he's a lawyer, I'm a speech pathologist) is that he thinks you know too much. In some ways, that's true. The more you know, the more you can imagine. I saw this with my girlfriend who is a doctor. When her first child was born, holy cow, she went from thinking he had spinal meningitis to RSV to diabetes, all in an hour. Yup, she was psycho.
But here's the problem. A year ago, my musings about having a tumor on my liver and weird bumps in my torso actually turned out to be a life threatening disease. Suddenly, I didn't sound so hysterical. Rather, I sounded incredibly "in tune" with my body, as one doctor put it. I guess most people can't just pin point where their cysts are with such frightening accuracy.
This hasn't done much for my hypochondria, to say the least.
Now, every twitch, every tweek, every minor pain gets me thinking about horrific stuff. My head hurts--crap, I have an aneurysm! My chest hurts--crap, I'm having a heart attack! My eyes are tired--crap, I'm going blind, because I really have a brain tumor impinging on my optic nerve! I'd like to say I'm exagerating, but sadly, it's all true. And since most major problems are diagnosed because of small signs, the list in my head of all the things that could be wrong with me go on and on.
My mom thinks I should become a doctor. I used to think about it a lot, but now, no way. There are some things I just never want to know.