“It’s cancer,” I stated matter-of-factly to my mom and Russ, as if I were telling them it was Thursday, or that the party was to begin at 6 o’clock. “I know it.”

I may have been six years old, but I knew even then that the world of deadly germs, chronic disease and a horrifying death by a pandemic far worse than the Spanish flu of 1918 had it out for me. Nineteen years later, I’m still not convinced it doesn’t. Why am I so exhausted? Why does it suddenly feel like my spinal column is being split in two when I take a deep breath? Why does my pelvis throb when I sit too long? WHAT IS THAT LUMP on my neck? (Nevermind the fact I’d just recovered from a sinus infection and my lymph nodes were triple their normal size). Can I get cat scratch fever from Tigger clawing my arm? Or that creepy zombie parasite I read cats can spread to people? WebMD just diagnosed me with a peptic ulcer. My thigh is throbbing, it’s obviously a blood clot working its way up to my lungs to kill me.

Think I’m kidding?

Welcome to the mind of a hypochondriac.

I’m the person who goes to my doctor and convinces him to prescribe me Tamiflu before I even have the flu because I hugged a person who does have the flu. I’m the person who takes wellness pills three times a day and carries hand sanitizer because I read on Facebook that two of my friends are sick. I’m the person who takes my temperature every five minutes because the reading five minutes before didn’t match the one five minutes before that (so which one is telling me the truth?) I’m the person who knows every symptom of every likely disease I could catch, and can rule out why it probably isn’t Disease A over Disease B (because Disease A also comes with eye twitching and heat flashes, so that can be ruled out). I impress my doctors with my keen health knowledge on possible diagnoses for myself and often hear, “You’ve clearly done your research,” and instead of feeling embarrassed, I feel smart. This, of course, makes their job easier, because I’ve already ruled out Diseases C, D and E for them.

Let’s explore the symptoms of hypochondria, according to the Mayo Clinic staff:

Symptoms

By Mayo Clinic staff

Hypochondria symptoms include:

• Having a long-term intense fear or anxiety about having a serious disease or health condition. Despite the fact that necrotizing fasciitis infects roughly only 750 people annually, I was terrified to go to sleep for a whole year when I was nine out of fear that I’d catch that awful, dreaded, horror movie-style, flesh-eating disease. Yes, I cried about it a few times, too. My dad and mom will remember this upon reading this and laugh. (P.S. — Googling the spelling of that disease was not necessary. I’ve done my fair share of research in the past, obviously).
• Worrying that minor symptoms or bodily sensations mean you have a serious illness.
  My stomach ache during Chi O rush senior year landed me in the ER. Hey — the guy at the clinic told me it sounded like pancreatitis, even though I did mildly exaggerate my symptoms. Don’t flirt with death, guys.
• Seeing doctors repeated times or having involved medical exams such as magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), echocardiograms or exploratory surgery. Cat scans? Check. Ultrasounds? Check. EKGs? Check. Sonograms? Check. Endoscopy? Check. XRays? Dozens. Almost opted for laporoscopic surgery, even though the doc thought my pain was probably just “stress?” Double check.
• Frequently switching doctors — if one doctor tells you that you aren’t sick, you may not believe it and seek out other opinions. I’ve made a few second opinion calls. Doctors do have “off days,” after all.
• Continuously talking about your symptoms or suspected diseases with family and friends. Sorry guys…
• Obsessively doing health research. My Safari browser now shows WebMD and Mayo Clinic among my top 10 most recently visited websites on a weekly basis. Also Medicine.net, Drugs.com and Health Tap. Googling symptoms and getting Yahoo! Health and ehealthforum.com questions, and realizing I’m suffering from the same affliction someone else posted about three years prior is a favorite hobby.
• Frequently checking your body for problems, such as lumps or sores. But really, why are the lymph nodes behind my ears always swollen? WHAT IS MY BODY FIGHTING?
• Frequently checking your vital signs, such as pulse or blood pressure. My heart is beating a little too fast for comfort lately, and my thermometer is a few years old. I’m not sure it’s too accurate, because I swear I have the chills.
• Thinking you have a disease after reading or hearing about it. That’s how most of my self-diagnoses come about, after all.

Am I crazy? Luckily, I can poke fun at myself. But sometimes I wonder — if I ignore the symptoms because I want to prove that I am in fact not a hypochondriac, is that when I’ll finally succumb to multiple myeloma, or an abdominal wall defect, or collagenous colitis? Am I stuck in a Catch-22?

“You mean there’s a catch?”

“Sure there’s a catch”, Doc Daneeka replied. “Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy.”

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane, he had to fly them. If he flew them, he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to, he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle. (“Catch-22” by Joseph Heller)

Well, these diseases are real… maybe not immediate… or likely, at all. Rational? Mmm, probably not. Looking out for myself? Absolutely. You can bet that when I get Non-Hodgkins lymphoma, I’ll know by Stage 0.5, or when I’m falling victim to colitis, I’ll have already cured myself.

While it’s a burden for my wallet and mentally draining staying up until 4 a.m. convincing myself I have pharyngitis even though it’s just allergies, I’m convinced I might save my own life someday. Or yours.

By the way, I’d make for a terrible diagnostician.