Yesterday’s “driving home from work” conversation with my best friend-
Me: sighhhhhhhhhhhhh…. **wine sound.
My Bestie: WHAT? WHAT IS WRONG THIS TIME? Do NOT tell me that you think you have brain cancer. If you think something is wrong, GO SEE A FREAKING DOCTOR!!!!!
Me: Nonono…. I haven’t even had a headache in like 3 days.
My Bestie: Well, what then… Lemme guess, you had a stroke? Appendicitis? Or did your Gallbladder erupt this afternoon?
Me: Ughhh that’s rude. You know I have Gallbladder issues. You are going to feel really bad when it actually does erupt.
Me: Sighhhhh, **half sob sound
My Bestie: You don’t have gallbladder issues. What is your problem?
Me: Well… I’ve had this pain in my mouth all day, and I just looked in the mirror and my gum is bleeding! I have Gum disease! Or maybe mouth cancer!! I’m going to be the only twenty-something yr old with fake teeth!
My Bestie: OHHH MY GOD! SERIOUSLY! This has got to stop. Every time I talk to you, you are dying of something. I”M REALLY GETTING SICK OF IT! I don’t think we can live together if you keep doing this. I AM SERIOUS!!!
Me: …. well Geeezzzz… you don’t have to be rude.
My Bestie: Well, you have a problem…
My Bestie: Anyway, it’s probably just halitosis.
Rude, Huh? But the more I think about it, she’s right. I have a problem. Somewhere in the last few years, I have become a full fledged, CooCoo for cocoa puffs, nut job, hypochondriac.
And I think I can trace my problem back to it’s origin.
It was a few years ago, back when I was still working in a cubical at a humongous mortgage company. I was sitting at my desk, calmly looking at Craigslist job postings, when I looked down and saw it.
A little red dot.
Not where your thinking, bitches! This particular little red dot is actually on my forearm. It’s hardly noticeable, no bigger than a pin prick… but nonetheless, it’s there, clear as day.
What did I do next? I looked around to make sure nobody was approaching my cube, and I typed “little red dot” into the Google search engine. I only had to click on a few web pages before I came across a site that, in the last 3 years, I have probably single-handedly doubled their visitor count.
Yes. I’m talking about Mother fucking Web.MD.
Web MD told me that my little red dot could be a plethora of different diseases. A single red dot could mean anything from shingles to liver disease. After weeks of obsessing and crying, my friends finally talked me down from a cliff and into a Doctor’s office, where I was reassured that a little red dot, can actually just be a little red harmless dot.
I have since come to terms that I am a girl who has a little red dot on my arm, and there is nothing wrong with that. However; since my introduction to Web MD, I have been the host of numerous “ghost” diseases, infections and rashes.
There was the time I went to the doctor seven times in a month for a pain in my lower right back. After numerous tests I found out I was probably just suffering from gas. Sure enough when I cut down on the cheese, they disappeared.
Then there was the time I was sure I had a stroke. And liver disease. And every kind of cancer in the book. I can’t even make out with a guy without obsessing about pregnancy.
And of course, let us not forget that long, drawn out scabies incident where I ended up digging and burning my my skin to get rid of the imaginary mites that I felt were crawling under my skin.
You might think it would drive a person crazy, to have to live with so many plagues. I’ve actually gotten quite used to it. However; after my conversation yesterday, I realize that my problem has become more of a problem for you, my friends, than it is for me. I apologize for that. Thank you all for standing by me through the tough times and accompanying me to the Doctor and CVS. Thank you for lying, and telling me that you have the same symptoms, just to make me feel better (or shut up.)
I also realize, that now when I complain to you about my various ailments, you are no longer sympathetic. You used to ask me questions, call me numerous times a day to check on how I was feeling and send me reassuring text messages. I miss that.
Which is the reason that I vow to you today, I am no longer going to have Hypochondria. I am whisking it away just as I have all of my other ailments when the time was right.
So next time I tell you that I probably have kidney disease, or that my small intestine has a chicken bone lodged in it, I’m not bullshitting.
Now will you please go back to being the caring, sympathetic friends you used to be?