Just a week ago, I had the good fortune to be able to head down to Washington, D.C. for the 57th presidential inauguration of President Barack Obama. It was a cold, tiring and, of course, moving, once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Not only did Kelly Clarkson’s beautiful rendition of “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” captivate me, but so did the petrifying, unshakable feeling that in just a few moments, the former prisoner of war and U.S. Marine Sergeant Brody would attempt to destroy all those who make up America’s government, including all the Americans there in support. But thankfully, neither during season one of “Homeland” nor in reality did such a catastrophe take place.
However, throughout the entire ceremony I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was just bound to happen at any moment. What was wrong with me that such horrid thoughts kept circling my mind? Alas, it was then I realized my identity as a full-blown, Class “A,” paranoid hypochondriac.
My paranoia does not only strike during high-security events, but appears in subways, elevators, trains and planes, where if we were to be stopped unexpectedly, there would be no way out, and everyone would die.
But those inanimate objects are the least of my fears; it is my own body that scares me the most. Every scratch, bump, itch, burn, discoloration and ache sends me through a whirlwind of imaginative thoughts, which always end up with me six feet under.
A slight ache in my thigh usually means that I have deep leg vein thrombosis; for a moment when I lose my breath, it’s a pulmonary embolism; my Reynaud’s disease is actually just the beginning of congestive heart failure; loud digestion is stomach, esophagus and liver cancer; and a minor headache is so clearly a brain tumor.
Thanks to WebMD, I definitely know way too many diseases for a history major.
While the fears other hypochondriacs may face are not identical to my own, I know I’m not alone in the frightening world of hypochondria. In fact, Woody Allen, the famous actor, comedian, screenwriter, playwright, author and musician, is also an intense hypochondriac.
In the Opinion section of The New York Times on Jan. 13, Woody Allen contributed a piece on hypochondria. I could not have said it better myself when Mr. Allen described his thoughts after a visit with the doctor. He wrote, “Even when the results of my yearly checkup show perfect health, how can I relax knowing that the minute I leave the doctor’s office something may start growing in me?”
If only monthly full body MRI scans were covered under America’s health insurance. But even then, who can trust a machine to determine one’s health?
Sadly, it is not merely being sick that our kind fear; it is the terror and unknown of death that drives hypochondria.
No matter how it happens, death is inevitable; fearing it is something we can control. And realistically, worrying too much can lead to ulcers, strokes and heart attacks.