Here I am typing away on my keyboard, just after returning from oral surgery. I will spare you the details, other than to say that I’m getting a tooth implant. The dentist offered to put me out for the procedure, but I declined, just knowing that if I ever went under the anesthesia, I might never, never wake up–and I’m not ready for the long sleep as yet. So I endured the grinding with eyes wide open, checking my blood pressure on the monitor to make sure I wasn’t flipping out. (My blood pressure actually reads on the low side, generally, as it did again today.) My face is numb, and I’m a little groggy from the “oral sedation.”
The first “attack” I had of hypochondria was when I was 19 and in college. I thought I had throat cancer–or something terrible, at any rate, gnawing at my throat. But after finding nothing, my family doctor sent me to a specialist, who examined me and said in a disgusted voice, “I find no disease here.” He told me to forget about the throat problem and it would go away. Which it did.
But my tendency to think that I am going to be struck dead by some horrible disease has stayed with me. I’ve tried to make friends with my hypochondria, to kid around with it. (Joke: how do you know if your a hypochondriac? When you think you’re dying of three different diseases in the same week,)
Of course, being a minister has contributed to my hypochondria. Just as medical students think they have contracted every deadly disease they study, ministers see a lot of people die, too. I recently got a call from a woman who lost her 48-year-old husband in a work-related accident. I regularly had congregants come down with various cancers, and some didn’t survive long after diagnosis. There are bicycle accidents that kill and maim. There are losses on Mount Hood. There are sudden strokes. I know life is fragile–I’ve seen it be snatched away all too soon, all too often.
I think my hypochondria comes from early emotional trauma, for I was separated from my mother several times before I was 2, when she had mental breakdowns. I have never learned that the world is a safe place, I’ve always feared that the worst will happen. For example, when I cross a city street, I typically think, “I could get run over, oh so easily, and be dead.” So I’m super-cautious.
The problem is complex and multi-faceted–first of all, there is the needless fear that hypochondriacs endure, and then the real illnesses that are caused by rhe related stress. And of course hypochondriacs really do fall ill, but they never know, for example, if those heart palpitations are caused by fear or a heart attack. We don’t want to appear silly, and we don’t want to keep showing up at the doctor’s office unnecessarily. And so we become confused about our bodies–is this or that pain “real” or is it just a psychic phenomenon? Either way, of course, the pain is real. It’s just that the treatment is different, according to the cause.
Several years ago, a rather large mole appear on the calf of my leg. My primary care physician said, “Just watch it.” Well, you might imagine how closely I watched it! Some months later, the mole looked as though it might be just barely creeping out of its boundaries–but was it really changing, or was I just imagining this? I went back to my doctor, who told me he thought it was nothing, but I should probably have it checked by dermatology.
So I called dermatology and was told they had no appts. for two months–at which time, I became very assertive–no, perhaps aggressive is a better word. “This is a possible melanoma!” I said. “It is not acceptable to wait–I must see a doctor right away.” And so they gave me an appointment within a few days. The dermatologist look one look at the mole and said, “I wish I could tell you not to worry.” He took it off immediately, sent it to the lab, and yes, I found that I had a melanoma. I caught it in Stage One, and so the cure rate is about 98%, so I’ll probably be fine. Probably. Unless I’m in the 2% (whoops, there I go again!)
My point is just that I could have easily assumed that the mole was not dangerous and chided myself for being a worry wart. And if I had persisted in the mode for long, I could be dead. Not imagined dead–really dead.
So I should say something helpful at this point, to those who share this malady. Well, I recently read a book that was helpful: They Can’t Find Anything Wrong! by David D. Clarke, Sentient Publications. Dr. Clarke gives many examples of what he calls “stress illness”–real pain and changes in body functions caused by stress and/or psychological factors. I knew about stress illness, but I didn’t not know how widespread it is, and what really serious physical conditions can result.
And then I have found comfort in my Buddhist learning: I say to myself, “We are of the nature to become ill, we are of the nature to die.” To accept ourselves as creatures who will and must die helps tremendously to relax into the moment and live the life we actually have.
Well, time has passed since I sat down at the keyboard, and my face is not numb anymore, and no pain, as yet. Maybe there won’t be any. Or maybe there will. I’m going to be OK.
