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Recently I read an article in a US magazine called Prevention that grabbed my attention. It was entitled “My Nagging Cough Turned Out to be Cancer.” I subscribe to this publication to keep up with the latest trends in American thinking on wellness and living long. They seem to have an obsession with extending life and hopefully living forever. I own a book called How Not to Die, which gives advice on nutrition. Of course, the title does seem a bit odd. But nevertheless, it serves my purpose.
As soon as I saw the title of the above article, I clicked on the link because I wanted to check on the symptoms. I just had to know if I have any similar ones. I was keenly interested to know the prognosis, which is just about all I needed to find out. Could I have that illness?
I even read obituaries in the paper just to know what people died from. Although the British papers mostly avoid it, the Americans commonly will include such information. After reading it, I begin to dwell on that illness and wonder if I may have that or get it in the future.
What I described above is an example of what it is like to be a hypochondriac. There is a better sounding and more accurate term called Illness Anxiety Disorder. I have suffered from this disorder and I’m quite aware of the difficulties associated with it. Many people find it convenient to make fun of this disorder and belittle people with problems such as this one. This condition impacts my life like a plague. There is a constant flow of anxiety within me about numerous illnesses that I could suffer from. Throughout my daily routines and activities, this feeling of anxiety plays like music in the back of my mind. Sometimes, this anxiety can seem to have a paralyzing effect. Other times, I find myself engrossed with reading facts online about various diseases and symptoms and I end up convincing myself that my situation is worse than it is and that I have some serious illness. For me, this fearful factor begins with the letter C.
I have an oncologist relative who tried to help me by giving me some advice. His advice was that if I experience symptoms for less than two weeks, I need not worry about it at all. But if that condition persists over two weeks, make sure to see a doctor. This seems like great advice, and since it comes from a doctor who personally cares about me, I ought to value his advice. But if the symptoms continue for a short time, I visit the doctor. I have a very patient GP who is rather kind to me. I’ve known this female GP for about 15 years now through a private health insurance plan that I’m enrolled in. I’ve continued to see her because she is an excellent physician, and she listens carefully to me. She can determine when it’s appropriate to investigate something further or just to reassure me.
I appreciate the fact that she doesn’t put me down or avoid my concerns about my health. Rather, she handles me with compassion and understanding. I don’t know how I would have survived without her because she has been like a firm rock to me. We’re fairly comfortable in this process and sometimes we joke about this as well. She is aware that I often will enter her office with the worst assumptions about my health and well-being. Some doctors have asked me what disease I think I have and I often respond with various assumptions of my own. One time, a gastroenterologist responded with these words: “That would be about the worst possible thing you could have.” My thoughts exactly! You see, I have consulted doctors on both sides of the Atlantic. But please note that those I’ve consulted on the NHS have been quite compassionate. Yet, I am careful not to take too much of their time as I know they need to care for other patients as well.
There are also those who fear a doctor’s appointment. Such people seem to avoid it, but not me. It seems to have a calming effect on me. In fact, when I get to discuss my situation in detail, it has a positive effect on me. I know that such doctors will have the answers that I need. The explanation that the GP offers has a calming effect on me and I can’t explain how much it means to me. Sometimes, there is indeed an illness, and she will treat it. But when I am being examined, that has a calming effect on me. It seems that is the only way for me to be convinced that I am OK and not seriously ill.
There are times when even that is not enough to give me a sense of calm. Even a good scanning result will be ignored as I begin to imagine that the radiographer was mistaken, or that the doctor misread the blood results and radiology reports that I presented. I realize that the diagnostic process is an art after all. Until the next disease scare takes over the mind, this will suffice. Some people find peace by the thought that they will be fine and that such things won’t happen to them. For me, I begin to think about why it shouldn’t happen to me.
If you were to put aside the illness anxiety disorder, you will also realize that some are quite more attuned to their bodies than other people. Truly we are like complicated machines — we know that things go wrong, but we also need to realize that everything is not life-threatening. But I am often amazed that my friends ignore their physical pains and go on with life like nothing is wrong with them. They ignore the symptoms completely without thinking anything of them. It seems if I sense anything in my body, I go immediately to the doctor. A friend of mine had some symptoms like mine and I went immediately for a doctor’s visit, but my friend did nothing. For over two months, my friend had the same situation as mine, but saw no one and was completely well. That problem eventually went away, and nothing remained of it.
Yet it’s hard for me to grasp how people just take good health for granted without thinking much of it. These are people who abuse their bodies with smoking and drinking excessively, and they also eat all kinds of foods that are not good for them. These people never seem to have to pay the price for all their escapades. In some rare moments of feeling calmness, I am thankful for my good health. I do the best I can to preserve that, but now that I am in my sixties, I’m beginning to have some challenges that are small but still of concern to me.
Throughout all this, there is within me a deep sense of shame knowing that there are many who are brave and who suffer and battle some serious illness that is terminal for them. My work brings me into regular contact with the sick and seriously disabled. I don’t fear being near illnesses and I am quite compassionate. I spent time recently with a dear friend who was at a hospice and found that the acceptance of death all around me was quite comforting.
No, I don’t fear the process of death, and I wonder why I’ve developed this obsession with my health. I surely am an anxious person with deep acute anxiety that never seems to leave me. Recent times have been difficult for me and that has certainly made my illness anxiety more acute. There also seems to be this feeling that if I worry about something long and intense enough, then it won’t happen. This makes me feel like I am in control of things around me much more than I really am. I realize that this isn’t true, but it seems to be my coping mechanism, but it does put me into a vicious cycle. Anxiety and fear of illness have a deep connection for me and surely there are plenty of people out there like me.
When I consider the issue in-depth and take my thought process through every detail, I bring things to its logical conclusion. When I think of me ceasing to exist, I begin to grasp that what brings me fear is that it will stop me from doing those things that really want to do in life. Then, I think of the only conclusion from all this (what I’ve really been afraid of all along), that I fear life itself. That’s when I clearly see that I need to go to a therapist who can help me get out of this loop.
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