Two days ago:
Intrepid is on his way out the door to wait for the bus and gets a big hug from daddy Geekster.
Intrepid: Ouch.
Geekster: Love hurts, Intrepid.
Intrepid: Oh, I know! Me and Aiden know from experience!
It must be all the relationship wisdom gleaned from his long life.
Speaking of long lives, I've recently been dedicating some of my time to reading this blog. This girl is quite hilarious, a great writer, and a self-described hypochondriac. And while I'm not a medical expert, I'd have to say that, uh, yeah, she definitely is. It's not hard to diagnose something like hypochondria. Scared of dying from a highly unlikely medical ailment (or several) for a long period of time? Hypochondria.
I'll send my bill.
I used to laugh at the idea of hypochondriacs. I didn't get it. It sounded like a stupid, self-inflicted waste of time. I mean, if you don't want to think you're dying of some disease all the time, then don't think you're dying of it. Duh. Go see the doctor, get confirmation that you're not dying, go home and be happy again. The end. Heck, if everyone just did what I said the world would be a much better place. People would be happier, more birds would sing... All the good stuff.
Except for one time, in 2001, when things started to go awry in my simplistic and judgmental little world. See, I got pregnant and then I had a miscarriage. There was a sac, but no baby. Not only was it sad, but I had a scary realization: bad things can happen inside my body.
Then I did the #1 bad thing to do when you're a blossoming hypochondriac: I looked stuff up on the internet. Never, ever, EVER should people with health anxiety issues look things up on their own. Even if you think you might, possibly, one day have an unhealthy fear of health-related issues you shouldn't look things up. And I did. I looked it up and I got even more scared. Realization #2: REALLY bad things can happen to my baby inside my body.
A year later I was pregnant again, and scared of another miscarriage. That's not an unhealthy fear, really. Having a pregnancy loss changes you. Couple that with conception problems and it's pretty much a given. But you know, this is me we're talking about. The full-fledged alcoholic at fourteen. I don't do things half-assed. That's for sissies. The Maven takes the ball and runs with it. I didn't just get scared. I got paranoid. I got anxious. I got convinced that I was going to lose this baby, even after all those strong pregnancy symptoms. Even after an ultrasound with a beating heart. Even after a half-way ultrasound showing a very healthy baby. I didn't breathe a sigh of relief after the first trimester. I didn't stop fretting after the baby was technically viable outside the womb. No, I panicked the entire way through, Maven style. I knew that bad things could happen inside my body at any given time.
I'd like to say that delivering baby Gutsy at a health 10lbs 4oz was all it took to shake me sane again. That I took one look at him and said "Oh, Maven! You were so silly! Time to relax and enjoy the baby now."
Sadly, that wasn't the case. At two weeks we discovered a lump on his head. The doctor said "I've never seen this before" and that got the awesome ball rolling again. It turned out to be nothing, but that didn't stop me. This started a long chain of panic attacks that lead us to the local Children's Hospital several times in the first two years. I was convinced he had meningitis on several occasions (because didn't you know that ever fever is meningitis?), a brain tumour (it was actually an inner ear infection that made him dizzy), and several other ridiculous things.
Obviously this isn't technically hypochondria. This was an unhealthy fixation on my child's health and wellbeing, not my own. I'm not sure if it even has a name. I think I might have invented a new mental illness. I'm amazingly creative.
Anyway, I eventually gave up on that one. I decided after about two years that maybe he was actually meant to be here and God wasn't going to take him after five years of infertility. It wasn't a cruel joke after all.
.... But you know what would be kind of funny for a deity? Killing me off. Yeah. That would be so ironic, wouldn't it? So maybe I would get some kind of cancer, or heart disease, or maybe an aneurysm! One second I'm doing dishes, the next I'm lying on the floor dead, missing the next segment on Oprah. Meanwhile, my perfectly healthy children are wondering what just happened to mommy. How could I leave them like that? What kind of sick joke is this?
I spent the next two years convincing myself I had the following:
- Multiple Sclerosis
- Type 2 Diabetes
- Heart disease
- Lupus
- Tuberculosis
- Several cancers: breast, brain, lung, pancreatic, stomach, liver, skin, leukemia, lymphoma, bone, eye, mouth, intestinal, and others I can't remember
- Male pattern baldness
The cancers and lupus were by far the best, because just about any symptom can be either of those. Thanks to the trusty internet I was a pro at finding out what I was dying from. And the male pattern baldness? I think I was just fresh out of new ideas. I needed something different.
Know what I actually had? Anxiety. And two kids. And a lot of stress and feelings of being overwhelmed. And a cyst on my breast at one point that took four doctors and two ultrasounds to convince me I wasn't dying.
Hypochondria is mentally and physically exhausting. It preoccupied all of my time and kept me feeling imprisoned in my thoughts. I knew logically that I wasn't sick. I knew logically that it was highly unlikely I had any of those things.
The problem is that logic doesn't factor in. The logic only works to calm you down for a few minutes or even a couple of days. But it comes back. It always comes back. It's pure torture.
What saved me? Believe it or not, another pregnancy. Spawnling saved me. I found out I was pregnant again and it got me thinking about how I had such little joy throughout Gutsy's pregnancy and infancy. I was always worried, always panicked, always a complete head case.
So I decided not to be. I wouldn't do that to myself again. I wouldn't do that to my baby again. It wasn't logic that saved me. It was love.
I did enjoy that pregnancy, actually. Very much. And I enjoyed take-out sometimes, and caffeine sometimes, and I went to the ultrasound excited instead of scared. And I bought clothes ahead of time and I smiled when the baby was quiet instead of worrying and pushing at my belly so he could wake up and kick me to let me know he was ok.
Oh, and um... I might have rented a fetal doppler so that, in those rare moments when I might get a little scared, I could listen to his heartbeat and breathe a sigh of relief. I might have done that a little. Or a lot. But I'm happy to say he did not have a spare limb, or two heads, or anything else that could potentially happen from overexposure to doppler.
I went for a final ultrasound on that breast lump when he was about nine months old. It was a cyst, of course. And the best thing is that I knew that going in. I also knew that if it wasn't, I would deal with it and I would be okay. And I get therapy now, and I deal with my anxiety, and I look for what's bothering me beneath any health worries that might crop up. I'm doing ok for now.
Is there such a thing as a recovering hypochondriac? Maybe we need a 12 step program. If they serve coffee I am SO there. I'm guessing there would be no wireless internet available at said meetings, eh?
It can get better. It really can. If anyone reading this is dealing with health anxiety issues, you can get better.
I mean, seriously. If The Maven can do it anyone can.
Intrepid is on his way out the door to wait for the bus and gets a big hug from daddy Geekster.
Intrepid: Ouch.
Geekster: Love hurts, Intrepid.
Intrepid: Oh, I know! Me and Aiden know from experience!
It must be all the relationship wisdom gleaned from his long life.
Speaking of long lives, I've recently been dedicating some of my time to reading this blog. This girl is quite hilarious, a great writer, and a self-described hypochondriac. And while I'm not a medical expert, I'd have to say that, uh, yeah, she definitely is. It's not hard to diagnose something like hypochondria. Scared of dying from a highly unlikely medical ailment (or several) for a long period of time? Hypochondria.
I'll send my bill.
I used to laugh at the idea of hypochondriacs. I didn't get it. It sounded like a stupid, self-inflicted waste of time. I mean, if you don't want to think you're dying of some disease all the time, then don't think you're dying of it. Duh. Go see the doctor, get confirmation that you're not dying, go home and be happy again. The end. Heck, if everyone just did what I said the world would be a much better place. People would be happier, more birds would sing... All the good stuff.
Except for one time, in 2001, when things started to go awry in my simplistic and judgmental little world. See, I got pregnant and then I had a miscarriage. There was a sac, but no baby. Not only was it sad, but I had a scary realization: bad things can happen inside my body.
Then I did the #1 bad thing to do when you're a blossoming hypochondriac: I looked stuff up on the internet. Never, ever, EVER should people with health anxiety issues look things up on their own. Even if you think you might, possibly, one day have an unhealthy fear of health-related issues you shouldn't look things up. And I did. I looked it up and I got even more scared. Realization #2: REALLY bad things can happen to my baby inside my body.
A year later I was pregnant again, and scared of another miscarriage. That's not an unhealthy fear, really. Having a pregnancy loss changes you. Couple that with conception problems and it's pretty much a given. But you know, this is me we're talking about. The full-fledged alcoholic at fourteen. I don't do things half-assed. That's for sissies. The Maven takes the ball and runs with it. I didn't just get scared. I got paranoid. I got anxious. I got convinced that I was going to lose this baby, even after all those strong pregnancy symptoms. Even after an ultrasound with a beating heart. Even after a half-way ultrasound showing a very healthy baby. I didn't breathe a sigh of relief after the first trimester. I didn't stop fretting after the baby was technically viable outside the womb. No, I panicked the entire way through, Maven style. I knew that bad things could happen inside my body at any given time.
I'd like to say that delivering baby Gutsy at a health 10lbs 4oz was all it took to shake me sane again. That I took one look at him and said "Oh, Maven! You were so silly! Time to relax and enjoy the baby now."
Sadly, that wasn't the case. At two weeks we discovered a lump on his head. The doctor said "I've never seen this before" and that got the awesome ball rolling again. It turned out to be nothing, but that didn't stop me. This started a long chain of panic attacks that lead us to the local Children's Hospital several times in the first two years. I was convinced he had meningitis on several occasions (because didn't you know that ever fever is meningitis?), a brain tumour (it was actually an inner ear infection that made him dizzy), and several other ridiculous things.
Obviously this isn't technically hypochondria. This was an unhealthy fixation on my child's health and wellbeing, not my own. I'm not sure if it even has a name. I think I might have invented a new mental illness. I'm amazingly creative.
Anyway, I eventually gave up on that one. I decided after about two years that maybe he was actually meant to be here and God wasn't going to take him after five years of infertility. It wasn't a cruel joke after all.
.... But you know what would be kind of funny for a deity? Killing me off. Yeah. That would be so ironic, wouldn't it? So maybe I would get some kind of cancer, or heart disease, or maybe an aneurysm! One second I'm doing dishes, the next I'm lying on the floor dead, missing the next segment on Oprah. Meanwhile, my perfectly healthy children are wondering what just happened to mommy. How could I leave them like that? What kind of sick joke is this?
I spent the next two years convincing myself I had the following:
- Multiple Sclerosis
- Type 2 Diabetes
- Heart disease
- Lupus
- Tuberculosis
- Several cancers: breast, brain, lung, pancreatic, stomach, liver, skin, leukemia, lymphoma, bone, eye, mouth, intestinal, and others I can't remember
- Male pattern baldness
The cancers and lupus were by far the best, because just about any symptom can be either of those. Thanks to the trusty internet I was a pro at finding out what I was dying from. And the male pattern baldness? I think I was just fresh out of new ideas. I needed something different.
Know what I actually had? Anxiety. And two kids. And a lot of stress and feelings of being overwhelmed. And a cyst on my breast at one point that took four doctors and two ultrasounds to convince me I wasn't dying.
Hypochondria is mentally and physically exhausting. It preoccupied all of my time and kept me feeling imprisoned in my thoughts. I knew logically that I wasn't sick. I knew logically that it was highly unlikely I had any of those things.
The problem is that logic doesn't factor in. The logic only works to calm you down for a few minutes or even a couple of days. But it comes back. It always comes back. It's pure torture.
What saved me? Believe it or not, another pregnancy. Spawnling saved me. I found out I was pregnant again and it got me thinking about how I had such little joy throughout Gutsy's pregnancy and infancy. I was always worried, always panicked, always a complete head case.
So I decided not to be. I wouldn't do that to myself again. I wouldn't do that to my baby again. It wasn't logic that saved me. It was love.
I did enjoy that pregnancy, actually. Very much. And I enjoyed take-out sometimes, and caffeine sometimes, and I went to the ultrasound excited instead of scared. And I bought clothes ahead of time and I smiled when the baby was quiet instead of worrying and pushing at my belly so he could wake up and kick me to let me know he was ok.
Oh, and um... I might have rented a fetal doppler so that, in those rare moments when I might get a little scared, I could listen to his heartbeat and breathe a sigh of relief. I might have done that a little. Or a lot. But I'm happy to say he did not have a spare limb, or two heads, or anything else that could potentially happen from overexposure to doppler.
I went for a final ultrasound on that breast lump when he was about nine months old. It was a cyst, of course. And the best thing is that I knew that going in. I also knew that if it wasn't, I would deal with it and I would be okay. And I get therapy now, and I deal with my anxiety, and I look for what's bothering me beneath any health worries that might crop up. I'm doing ok for now.
Is there such a thing as a recovering hypochondriac? Maybe we need a 12 step program. If they serve coffee I am SO there. I'm guessing there would be no wireless internet available at said meetings, eh?
It can get better. It really can. If anyone reading this is dealing with health anxiety issues, you can get better.
I mean, seriously. If The Maven can do it anyone can.