I’m an internet hypochondriac
I’ve been a hypochondriac for nearly the whole of my embarrassingly healthy life. Its start was my grandmother’s fault. She owned a medical encyclopaedia. Admittedly, it had been published in 1903, but I figured that as long as I didn’t read the dropsy entry, or have an illness requiring antibiotics, then I was probably on pretty safe ground relying upon it for pertinent medical information. So aged seven I confidently diagnosed myself with Bright’s disease. I can’t quite remember why – something to do with my kidneys, I think. Anyhow, I can happily report that I survived this early setback.
In fact, my hypochondria went into remission for most of my teenage years. I did have multiple sclerosis briefly one morning, but it turned out to be no more than pins and needles caused by spending the night lying fast asleep on one arm. And then there was glandular fever, but since I really did have that, it doesn’t quite count. Mind you, my self-diagnosis of leukaemia proved to be somewhat wide of the mark.
Unfortunately, this period of relative calm came to an end with a dieting fiasco in my early twenties. I had been getting a bit podgy – too many cakes, rather than liver disease – so I thought a diet was in order. It went well. I lost four pounds in ten days. Very encouraging, except I promptly convinced myself that weight loss meant stomach cancer, and contrived to stuff myself silly over the next week just to prove that I could put the weight back on again. I could. In spades.
This kind of madness has continued off and on for the last twenty years. But recently it has taken a disturbing new turn. For I have discovered that the internet is the hypochondriac’s best nightmare. It all started with a game of squash, heat exhaustion and a doctor’s visit.
“You’ve overheated,” said the doc, obviously noting my fevered brow.
“Why’s that then?” said I, forgetting that I had just played squash in one hundred degree heat.
“It’s a hot day,” somebody said, rather contemptuously I felt.
And if only things had been left there. But, oh no, the doctor just had to pipe up with, “Well, almost certainly that’s it, though there are some very rare conditions which can cause overheating. But there’s no need to worry about them, and I’m not going to tell you about them anyway, because it’ll only frighten you.”
Well what the hell did he mean by that!? I just had to find out. And that’s when it occurred to me, use Google! So I typed in “hot flushes”. Menopause, it replied. I contemplated this possibility for perhaps somewhat longer than a man in his early forties ought to, but even I couldn’t quite believe that I was going through the change. So what else might it be? Tamoxifen? Nope. A tumour on the thyroid gland? Ah, that was more like it, but they’re usually benign, so not too scary. And then I saw the words guaranteed to precipitate a hot flush in any self-respecting hypochondriac. Pancreatic cancer.
Pancreatic cancer is not an illness which tends to have a happy outcome. So, needless to say, I immediately became convinced that I was suffering from it. But what to do? I was much too scared to do further research on the net. And anyway what was the point in finding out how much time I didn’t have left? And then I hit upon a harebrained scheme. People with fast acting terminal illnesses must notice physical decline pretty quickly. So why not set myself a daily physical test – like 2000 metres on a rowing machine – to see whether I got any worse at it? If in a month I hadn’t, then I was probably home clear.
This wasn’t a very clever plan. Its major flaw became apparent some seven minutes after I had embarked on it. Lying panting on the floor in a pool of sweat next to the rowing machine, I realised with horror that I was going to have to repeat the whole process again, just as quickly, the next day. And then the one after that, and so on for a month. At that rate, more than likely I’d expire with a coronary long before my pancreas shuffled off its mortal coil. But did I let this thought stop me? Not a bit of it. The next morning found me astride the rowing machine, eyes bulging with effort, or possibly hyperthyroidism, desperately chasing the clock. Could I match yesterday’s effort? I’m sorry to report that I could not. The clock worsted me by a clear two seconds. Not a huge amount, admittedly, but an obvious indication that my physical decline had begun.
It occurred to me that maybe I ought to call the doctor’s surgery immediately to inform them of my imminent demise. I wasn’t sure they’d be particularly interested, but I figured at the very least that I ought to cancel my flu jab appointment. I could also update them on a new, rather irritating, symptom that had appeared over the preceding few days.
Twitching. Nope, not some strange desire to sit in a field hoping to catch a glimpse of a stray pigeon, though that would have been bad enough, but rather muscles that twitched. A lot. In fact, rather as if a family of hyperactive moles had taken up residence in my limbs. This was not good for my already frazzled state of mind, since it was turning out to be rather difficult to sleep with Moley and his pals skipping the light fantastick in my calves every night.
In normal circumstances, new symptoms are the lifeblood of a hypochondriac’s obsession. There are, after all, few pleasures in life to match the sweet terror of flicking through Gray’s Anatomy to determine whether the pain you’ve just noticed in your knee is a sign that a vital organ is about to give up the ghost. However, on this occasion, I was not overly worried. It was just muscle twitching, which compared to pancreatic cancer surely could not be too serious. So why not Google it? At least that way I could present my doctor with the bundle of research that he always so appreciates when I want him to confirm a particular diagnosis.
Google unfortunately did not share my optimism about muscle twitching. Admittedly, there was mention of anxiety, caffeine and too much exercise – none of which I took to be particularly life-threatening; and I was fairly certain that something called benign fasciculation syndrome was going to be…well, benign. But none of this compensated for the horror of seeing page after page pop up on motor neuron disease, or ALS as I soon learnt it is called in North America. This really was not the best news. It was unfortunate enough to be suffering from one terminal illness, but to be suffering from two, especially when the second one involves a relentless decline into total paralysis, seemed really to be taking the biscuit.
I’d like to say that I contemplated my fate with equanimity – that I cut a rather noble figure as I calmly reminded loved ones of Epicurus’s maxim that ‘Death is nothing to us’. But the truth is my reaction to this new development was more Woody Allen than Epicurus. I became morbidly obsessed with the twitching of my muscles. I would think nothing of spending whole afternoons staring in horrified fascination at the subcutaneous bubbling my calf muscles in particular seemed determined to torment me with; and the merest suspicion that a previously twitch-free zone had decided to join in with the fun would be enough to provoke copious wailing and desperate entreaties for medical intervention.
I am pleased to report, though, that I retained a semblance of the scientific spirit in the series of strength tests I devised to determine just how quickly I was growing weaker. These included: standing on one leg (personal record – 5 minutes 32 seconds); standing on tiptoes on one leg (1 min 15 seconds); standing on tiptoes on one leg in the dark holding a cup of tea (4 seconds); hopping upstairs carrying a large cat (23 stairs). It is true that these tests did not show any dramatic decline in my physical prowess – in fact, if anything I got better at them as time went on – but I was not reassured. No doubt I had a variant of motor neuron disease that would taunt me with the possibility of remission, or even a cure, only to accelerate wildly the moment I began to think that just perhaps I’d be okay.
Obviously, suffering from two terminal illnesses – though, oddly enough, by this stage I wasn’t spending much time thinking about the pancreatic cancer – it was necessary to inform family and friends that I wasn’t going to be around for much longer. It was with a heavy heart, then, that I broke the news to my parents that their beloved son was unlikely to see out the year. It has to be said that their reaction to this bombshell was somewhat underwhelming. My father barely glanced up from the Daily Telegraph, and my mother muttered something about remembering to cancel the television license. Clearly they hadn’t understood what I was telling them. So I explained about my pancreas, and about the twitching, and how all this was terribly bad.
“Oh yes, that twitching, your father has that, and he’s still alive, more or less,” said my mother.
This was unexpected news.
“Show him your calf muscles, dear!”
My father knows better than to ignore a direct command from my mother, so he obliged by rolling up his trousers. It took a little while for me to pluck up the courage to look at his unadorned lower legs, but when I did, I was stunned to see that his calf muscles twitched every bit as wildly as my own.
This was a staggering revelation. It just seemed impossible – such a coincidence! I gave him what I hoped was a look of immense compassion, and then broke the news that he too was suffering from motor neuron disease.
“Oh well,” said my mother,“could be worse, he could have pancreatic cancer as well.”
Category: Featured, Whimsy | Tags: hypochondria, internet, mental health, personal 20 comments »
February 26th, 2009 at 3:27 pm
I didn’t know this about you!! You always seem so together!x
February 26th, 2009 at 6:13 pm
I think you’re mixing me up with someone else, Tracey!
February 28th, 2009 at 9:03 am
[...] news, in light of the whole hypochondria thing, they’ve found a gene for [...]
March 2nd, 2009 at 12:18 pm
Brilliant – had a real good laugh while I waited for the chest pain I had from overdoing it in the gardening subsided.
There is a client at the charity I work at who claims to have a brain tumour which the NHS and the charity are conspiratorially ignoring. I suggested to her one day during one of her frequent telephone calls to us complaining about the NHS and our charities conspiracy to deny her treatment that if she had had the brain tumour for as long as she claimed she would be dead by now. The next day she charged into our offices complaining about my lack of medical knowledge to be able to offer a diagnosis and using this as proof of the conspiracy.
All the best.
Keep writing please until the twitching reachs your fingers.
March 2nd, 2009 at 12:33 pm
Thanks Stephen.
Well certainly if she a glioblastoma multiforme Stage IV, and it was untreated, and presenting symptomatically, then she’d live six months if she were lucky!
So I’d say you were right!
You should point her in this direction!
March 7th, 2009 at 3:25 pm
Hey – I had that same leg muscle twitchy stuff .. I convinced myself it was really bad varicose veins and had to sit down as much as possible with my legs up … then I started worrying it was something worse as it became so all consuming twitching and flickering non stop… I finally plucked up courage and went to the doctor – who said it was just an involuntary twitch … and I went home and it disappeared over a couple of days to just a gentle twitch that I feel now and again … so I realised thats how Jesus Christ did his miracles – mind over matter … my head had blown this into montrous proportions and my legs lived up to it, then when my brain said it was nothing my legs behaved themselves.
March 7th, 2009 at 3:35 pm
Yeah, there’s absolutely no doubt that anxiety can be a major contributor to the muscle twitch thing.
It is certainly the case that my twitching varies with my levels of stress, etc.
It’s also the case – and I say this having read more about this stuff than any sane person ever should – that in the absence of any other symptoms it is extremely unlikely that the twitching is anything sinister.
March 8th, 2009 at 1:51 pm
And the sad (but risible) thing is that anxiety about twitching makes twitching worse which makes the anxiety about twitching worse which makes the twitching worse which
Do you see where I’m going with this?
March 8th, 2009 at 2:06 pm
The relationship between benign fasciculation syndrome and anxiety is well-established. See, for example:
http://www.medhelp.org/posts/show/695268
http://www.medhelp.org/forums/neuro/messages/33736.html
http://www.medhelp.org/forums/NeuroSupport/messages/375.html
http://www.steadyhealth.com/fasciculations_and_anxiety_t78703.html
etc, etc!
May 24th, 2009 at 1:31 pm
I have that too – incessant calf twitching. Started when I was about 17, which was 28 years ago. Impossible not to look at it, because it’s just so odd – how the whole calf muscle doesn’t flex, but just small portions indent, with various depths and patterns and intensities.
Mostly these days I just ignore it, much as possible.
Undue amount of twitching in other body parts from time to time as well. It’s just that there are so many possible causes for this, most of them benign, I haven’t wanted to go through the neurological tests to find out what it is.
I’m diabetic, diabetes really kicked in about the time I turned 35. It could be nerve damage associated with pre-diabetes that started it. It could be lots of things. But generally I’ve been healthy, so whatever it is obviously it hasn’t killed me.
Best,
Glenn
May 24th, 2009 at 10:11 pm
Glenn
You’re describing my symptoms exactly (and my father’s, actually), including the twitching in other body parts.
I’m not sure that neurological tests would tell you anything anyway. You’ve not got ALS – you’ve had the symtoms way too long for that – and BFS (benign fasciculation sydrome) is diagnosed by exclusion (as is ALS – well partly anyway).
The tragedy of these symptoms is that the worry associated with them can ruin people’s lives. But if you look in detail at the research you’ll find the chances of twitching, in the absence of significant and (quickly) progressive weakness, being a symptom of anything bad is vanishingly small.
May 26th, 2009 at 11:28 am
Jeremy,
This would be a hilarious piece if one could be sure it fiction. Unfortunately, I’m pretty certain it’s not. My hypochondria pales next to yours. I spent far too much of my life worrying about maladies I didn’t have. Happily that’s in the past. Now, I have very real maladies, and they don’t bother me nearly as much.
An aside: You once said you were looking for puzzles to add to those you already have for TPM. I came across a number of them at:
http://www3.hku.hk/philodep/intro/
May 26th, 2009 at 11:58 am
Ralph – Sorry to hear you have real maladies. I have a few myself, but nothing serious. You’re right, it’s not fiction!
Thanks for tip re puzzles.
November 16th, 2009 at 7:07 pm
Was this written seriously?
November 16th, 2009 at 7:41 pm
What a strange question, Factopo. I’m not sure how to answer. Was I serious when I was writing it? Is the article supposed to be serious? Does it being serious preclude it also being written humourously? Is it supposed to be funny? You could mean any of these things. But probably it’s best that I let you figure it out for yourself.
February 11th, 2010 at 12:07 am
People often suffering from muscle twitching suffer from mild to severe anxiety by relating it to several health related problems. Other symptoms that may manifest together or including muscle twitching may only be a result of anxiety.
More info at muscletwitching.blogspot.com
February 27th, 2010 at 10:51 am
So good to read this , what a coincidence [ I have typed 70,000 words on this , any one interested ?
Same MS, Hypothyroid. Pancreatic Cancer , twitches right wrist ; Colon Cancer.. etc etc But I do have x;y; ... none that i feared..
I am 72 Female Asian Indian Hindu.
I thought about things you think about sine age 7 [ seven ]…
regards ,
LVR
April 30th, 2010 at 7:21 am
Wow, I’m not the only one. I’ve just gone from a pancreas cancer scare, to twitiching calf muscles. Which of course I typed into Google, and then nearly fell off my chair with fear.
Article is very funny, yet I can appreciate the seriousness behind it all. Good work man.
June 22nd, 2010 at 7:26 am
Jeremy, you really need to be more imaginative in your fictitious maladies. Twitching calf muscles and pancreatic cancer are just so pedestrian. What you need is something exquisitely rare and almost unpronounceable, and then people will sit up and take note. A dozen or so years ago I developed a relatively rare syndrome called central serous chorioretinopathy in one of my eyes. Imagine my delight each time I bashfully inform people of this strange affliction; the look of bewilderment mixed with genuine concern on their faces is deeply gratifying.
September 3rd, 2010 at 5:15 pm
Doctor doctor, I think I’m a hypochondriac!
Weird how stuff can set you off like that. There was a time (after watching ‘The Matrix’) that I was convinced the world was’nt real, then a few years later, when I got into The Doors, I became fairly confident in the idea that I was a reincarnation of Jim Morrison (don’t ask haha)
The thing that really gets me though, is looking back on stuff like that I find myself wondering “what the hell was I thinking?!” – so I’m anxious to find out what bizzaar flight of fantasy I’m in now
I guess only time will tell…