Duct Taping a Hypochondriac
Notes from the Prairie: I Wonder column #25
Hypochondriac lives deep inside me.. I suspect her sisters live in many people. In adulthood, I have caged, bound and gagged her.
Occasionally, she manages to free her hands and rip off the duct-tape gag. I dash to her cage, hear a few sentences as I wrestle her to the floor, rebind her hands and apply fresh tape.
Today, she has again freed herself. I wonder what would happen if I lingered near the cage and listened. I decide to try it.
I sit to finish my mug of coffee. Words explode from her like popcorn as she spies my fingers.
“Look at the blue bruise on your ring finger. A normal finger does not bruise from wearing a ring. You cannot tell yourself the blue is tarnish from costume jewelry: that is your 14-carat-gold wedding ring. No, your blood vessels have weakened to the danger point. See that bruise on your arm? Another warning sign. You stand at the cliff-edge of a stroke.”
As I sneeze and reach for a tissue, new words explode. “I know what you are thinking, but it might not be allergies. You know you were exposed to Ruth’s cold two days ago, the average incubation time for the cold virus. You know what follows your colds — sinus infections. Then antibiotics.
“Remember those two rounds of antibiotics that wrecked the bacteria balance in your colon? You contracted C-difficile diarrhea. Twice. You are now a decade older. C-diff will be devastating. Debilitating.”
My ears ringing, I grasp my coffee mug and head for a refill. “You really should give up caffeine,” she calls from behind me. “It’s not good for you. The cardiologist told you it triggers those flip-flops in your chest. A massive heart attack could lurk right behind the next cup. Besides, if you need caffeine every morning, you are incredibly unhealthy anyway.”
I decide to remind her the specialist said my arrhythmia was not dangerous. He simply suggested I cut my caffeine intake by half.
I begin, “The cardiologist said —” She cuts me off.
“I don’t care what he said. You never know when a not dangerous condition can transition to very dangerous. Doctors are not omniscient. Think of the woman who died a few weeks ago after her surgeon mistook her aorta for her kidney vein.
“Speaking of blood vessels, maybe your bruises indicate cancer. Remember! Weak blood vessels and strokes can reveal undiagnosed cancer. In fact, you might have brain cancer. You have been forgetful lately. Just yesterday, you forgot an appointment.
“Forgetting that appointment is also a dementia warning sign. It attacks many at your age. Come to think of it, your proofreading skills are declining. And you forgot someone’s name yesterday when autographing her book. I detected your cover-up when you asked, ‘How do you spell your first name?’ I knew what was really going on.”
“An exception,” I protest.
“Dementia. For sure. Remember your grandfather at the end? Barely knowing who you were. Even seeing animals and snakes crawling on the wall when he woke in the night. Remember how tired your dad was from caring for him through the nights?”
As I refill my mug, she shouts across the room, “Use no-calorie stevia! You need to reverse that weight gain. And sugar causes a killer trio: cancer, heart disease and diabetes.”
Nearing my chair, I tilt my torso forward to reduce the ache in my knees and ease down. “See! Even your knees complain about your weight gain. Before you know it, you will need a walker. You will get stuck on the toilet for hours as your overweight grandmother did.”
When she says “toilet,” I recall tying my excited inner Discovery Lover to a toilet last week. (To read that column, click here.) My Hypochondriac is my Discovery Lover on steroids.
I grab a rope and duct tape, then wrestle her to the cage floor and retie her hands behind her. I press duct tape over her still-moving lips. Her words shrink to moans.
Picking up my mug, I think of the 1% to 5% of adults with Illness Anxiety Disorder (the new official term for hypochondria) unable to duct-tape their inner hypochondriacs. I rejoice to be among the 95% who can.
I haven’t heeded my Hypochondriac for decades.
It will be a long time before I listen to her again.
I hope forever.
PS: Am I correct in thinking I’m not the only person who silences an inner hypochondriac? I’d love to hear from some of you.
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Carol Van Klompenburg is a writer and speaker living in Pella Iowa. Her email is carolvk13@gmail.com. Her new website is now live at www.carolvanklompenburg.com.
Long ago I stopped trying to diagnose my problems which from early in my childhood were different from those of most of my childhood friends. Think: super active, flat feet, near sighted, early sexual development and being an only child. Everyone's body is different and responds differently to what one eats, one's genetic heritage, etc. so it is much more difficult for me to become a hypochondriac.
First say a prayer. Then sing the old Doris Day song, "Que Sera, Sera. Whatever will be, will be. The futures not ours to see!" Then throw the duct tape away!