Hello. My name is Amanda and I am a hypochondriac.
Like most in my profession, the more I learn the more I’m sure I’ve got it. You know it, right? The bug, the disease, the malfunction. I sometimes find myself checking myself as one would a horse before purchase. I grimace into the mirror to check my gums for gingivitis. Every bump on my skin is melanoma or a brown recluse bite. I’ve deemed myself deficient in no less than 7 vitamins and minerals just from the state of my fingernails.
Of course, I diagnose every one else in a much more laid back manner. “Oh, you’ve just got gas. Lay off the collard greens and pop a couple of Beano, you’ll be fine.” This isn’t me being facetious. People seem to think going through nursing school and taking one class on skin health or some such and I’ll be able to diagnose every pimple, pustule, and skin rash they can come up with. No, I don’t know why your sinuses ache on Tuesdays, take some Sudafed and stop asking.
WebMD doesn’t help my state of mind and I’m not the only one. When my classmates do a symptom search and come back with, “ohmigod, I have cholera,” it’s easy for me to point out the left over pad thai they packed away for lunch probably had nothing to do with it. But when I do a search and it says I have shingles, or hypothyroidism, or SARS, well, OF COURSE I’m going to believe it! How am I supposed to prepare for the worst anyway if shingles is really a bad reaction to a new bracelet, or hypothyroidism is the three hours of sleep I’ve been allowing myself, or SARS is actually just a mild sinus infection!?
It’s a jungle out there, people. Full of microscopic creepy crawlies and spores and infestations. Most of the time I can keep in mind that spreading the love (aka germs) is actually building a strong immune system. And then sometimes I get an OCD style cleaning kick that involves bleach, a toothbrush, and knee pads.
Now, pardon me while I don this nonrebreather mask and goggles. My toilet needs cleaning.
for each ecstatic instant 