Monday, February 13, 2006
I'm a hypochondriac. Everytime I feel a twinge below my tummy, I'm convinced I have some kind of feminine cancer. Any strain in my chest is a heart condition. Blood clots. Aneurysm. For the longest time I was afraid I had an undiagnosed tooth infection that would spread to my heart. It's one of the things about myself which I'm the least proud of.
The worst part is, I'm totally aware of why I do it. My episodes tend to flare up whenever I'm at an idle point in my life and am forced to either make a decision or come up with a new goal. It's like it's easier for me to convince myself that I'm going to die than to take responsibility for the fact that I have to steer my life in the right direction. Pathetic, no?
Thankfully, since giving birth to my daughter (I'm not even going to touch on the hypochondria-palooza that was my pregnancy) I've given up on most of my self-loathing tendencies and my hypochondria has at least temporarily evaporated. But, I will always have a spot on my elbow as a symbol of my silliness. See that spot? I used to have a big brown mole there that appeared when I was a small child and started to weirdly spread when I was about 16. Every few year I'd ask whoever my doctor at the time was if it was skin cancer and they'd always tell me I was being a worry wart. Finally, my new doctor, who's pretty cautious, sent me to a dermatologist, who loped it off last year. So, now I have a red blotch on my arm. I think I liked the mole better.