Why It’s Inconceivable that I Should Be Sick
My post “Results of a Study on John Denver and Depression” referred to the fact that mental illness appears to run in our family. In “Name this Phobia…” I admitted that I am fearful of dying with a messy house. I realize these confessions may make me sound slightly unbalanced. But I’m actually completely unbalanced as today’s submission will confirm.
I am related to a hypochondriac. I will not mention who it is, although I am pretty certain this relative does not read my blog. So, if you are a relative who is reading my blog right now, I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU!
My concern is that hypochondria is hereditary.
So I am afraid that I am going to complain about being sick all of the time.
Which kind of worries me when I think I might actually be sick.
Sometimes when I think I’m sick, I think I’m just thinking it.
Especially if I just happened to watch a drug commercial or chance upon an ad in which was listed a lot of symptoms and side effects.
So, not wanting to appear hypochondriacal, I ignore the symptoms, and wait them out.
But then I start thinking, what if this is something real, and I, by ignoring it, am making it worse? What if it’s cancer, or some as yet unidentified Terminal Illness, and I could have saved myself by going to the doctor three months ago, but now it’s Too Late?
And, I will have to tell my husband and my daughter and Wonderbutt and Mrs. P.I.B. that I have two days to live because I was paranoid about being paranoid.
But that, I think, is exactly what a hypochondriac would think.
And, as everyone knows, hypochondria comes from the Greek word meaning “under the cartilage of the breastbone.” And Greece was the home of Socrates who died by poisoning, so I clearly must choose to go to the doctor immediately.
But I am part Sicilian, and as everyone knows, including germs and cancer cells, you should “never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”
Of course, another part of me is Irish, so I am clearly fearful of terrorists. And I suspect they have been poisoning my food.
But that’s exactly the way a hypochondriac would think, so I clearly should ignore my psychosomatic symptoms.
And then I will start laughing hysterically and pitch over backwards and die.
I’ve been watching the Princess Bride too much.
Posted on October 13, 2011, in Depression, Family, Humor, Phobia, Terrorism and tagged humor, hypochondria, Princess Bride, sick, Vizzini. Bookmark the permalink. 17 Comments.
Sounds like a no win situation, but I guess that’s what a hypochondriac would think.
They would think that, and complain to everyone about it while they are thinking that.
What if you think you’re sick, but then you get better, but you don’t know if you are really better, or not sick in the first place, so you are still in the first place?
I like your train of thought.
You’re making me dizzy. Or is that another symptom of my fatal disease?
You can’t ignore it, because… what if you’re right this time? Oh No!
That is my dilemma. Of course, I wasn’t right the other 50 times, but this could be the first.
I think you’ve got it wrong. The Irish part of you should be concerned that someone is after your lucky charms.
If you’re going to die, though, better to die laughing, at least.
Someone apparently already stole my pot of gold, so I guess the lucky charms would be next. Then I’m really going to be sick with all of my luck stolen out from under me.
You could always develop Münchhausen Syndrome and then you would really have something wrong with you and not be a hypochondriac! Simples!
Brilliant. I knew I didn’t need a silly ole psychiatrist.
A few of my close friends have labeled me as being ‘paranoid’ all because of my simple conclusion that I am not, in fact, suffering from depression, but I am in fact a victim of poisoning, by my husband and/or children, and I KNOW they put it in my coffee. I’ve stopped drinking coffee.
Clearly, everyone is out to get you. You need one of those food testers like kings used to have.
Your twin lives in my house. She is better known as my daughter.
Hmmm. Maybe I AM your daughter. Notice how careful I am about revealing my identity…
You’ve been traveling the secret labyrinth of my own mind! love your blog
I once said goodbye to my childen in the midst of a gallbladder attack. I thought I was having a heart attack. I hear you, sister.