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Confessions of a Googlechondriac in the Age of Covid
“I’ll just stay here until this blows over… when were these sheets washed?”
Arguably, the internet is both the hypochondriac’s best friend and his worst enemy. There are dozens and dozens of medically themed websites with comment boards that are loaded up and ready to scare the crap out of you. “Dude?! Blood on your toothbrush? My wife’s uncle’s third cousin had that and he was dead of bone cancer in his jaw in three weeks! Three weeks!“
And now there’s COVID-19, a novel virus which presents itself in novel ways. There are predominant symptoms to be sure, but there are also presentations that are unusual and show up in only two to three percent of patients. And if you’re north of 50 you can find one or two of those symptoms that describes something you’re definitely dealing with.
To make matters worse, technology has put some pretty powerful diagnostic tools in the hands of us amateurs. My 89-year-old father-in-law lives with us so I have the tools! Blood pressure cuff? Check. Blood glucose meter? Check. Pulse oximeter? Check. Scanning thermometer? Check. The desire to use them on myself 16 times a day? Check.
Some men are scared that their wives will find porn on their browser histories. Mine is full of medical porn. “What’s considered a temperature?” “How low can your pulse ox go before you’re dying?” “How accurate are the home readings on this?” “Does this sphygmomanometer make me look fat?”
Translation: I’m not a doctor but I play one on TV. I have my degree from WebMD!
The media, of course, preys on our fears and makes them worse. The more you read, the more you think you know, the worse you get. “You’re having dinner delivered… can you get COVID-19 from your pizza box?! Details at 11!”
“How many slices you want, honey?
“I don’t know. Did you take a Clorox wipe to that box first?”
The Coronavirus may, indeed, be a horrible way to die. It’s also a horrible way to live and every day I talk myself back from the edge. Every single day.
“Nice haircut!”
“I know. It will probably kill me. I had to leave the house to get it done.”
Now if you will excuse me I have work to do.
“Hey, Siri! What’s a perfusion index?”
Published in General
One of my favorite posts of the Coronavirus Era. I laughed through the whole thing because this is a good description of my life, too.
One advantage of COVID-19 is that I have stopped noticing a lot of the pains that I was previously sure were cancer. So that’s a plus.
Now almost the entirety of my hypochondria is focused on my chest area. This is compounded by the fact that “shortness of breath,” which I previously attributed to my slothful nature, is now probably a definite sure sign of my impending demise.
Heading to Amazon now to look for “pulse oximeter.” (I’ve been getting my info from MedCram rather than WebMd.)
The Covid-19 diversion has only intensified my obsessive behavior related to the Communist threat to the American way of life. And I get very irritable when nobody listens. But I do see hordes of real Americans out there raising cain.
I do not read any medical advice on the internet because I have been told that almost all such information (like most of the “information” on the internet in general) is designed to drive fear. And I know myself well enough that I am prone to leap immediately to the worst case scenario. So I just stay away.
With respect to Covid-19 (Wuhan virus), I am intentionally focusing on the statistical information about the probabilities that I might contract the virus, and that if I do the likelihood of a bad outcome, and avoiding the medical stuff. I don’t even know what the symptoms are supposed to be (other than “dry cough”). I have enough trouble even without that information keeping myself out of a constant state of fear.
It’s amazing how a real illness makes the mild or imagined ones fade into the background. For nine months starting last August I had 20 rounds of chemo, surgery and 20 radiation treatments. I forgot about every little itch, every skin condition, all my lower back pain and all my arthritic joint pain. Now that I’m feeling better those are all coming back. Hmmmm. But I still can’t resist WebMD when something new pops up.
Fear of death or fear of the process of dying? What is the object of your state of fear?
Without doing actual research, I have picked up enough information about the evilvirus symptoms to realize that if I should contract it, I would not notice. Coughs, pains, sneezes, skin stuff, discoloration, other things … that is just life at 70+.
I’ve always wondered about this.
My mom had horrible arthritis. When she was in her late 50s she got a really bad flu and was sick as a dog for several weeks. And I noticed she had stopped limping.
What? You want to live forever?
Used to. When I was but a lad, I was terrified by death. Somewhere along the way I decided I really didn’t need to live forever anymore. It was gradual, I think, although the realization was rather more sudden.
I may have been out raking leaves at the time.
I’m a hypochondriac as well. I know I’ve been one since long before google existed. I don’t know why I am like that. It might help if one could understand the reason one becomes like that, but I have no idea.
Beware…I just got two from Amazon. In case one breaks, and to compare the readings if I think one may not be working right. If you’re a hypochondriac like me, it just feeds the beast.
I was not encouraged from reading the reviews from people who tried comparing them.
My mother was a hypochondriac. One of the many ways she drove her doctors to distraction was by obsessively reading the mandatory data sheet with disclosure of potential side effects of any new medication she got. She then took any opportunity with any stray pain, itch, eye discomfort, you name it to run back to the doctor and complain about how she was suffering from the side effects.
From this, I learned to ignore all that kind of data. I also will not read WebMD or similar sites, because I am pretty sure I would obsess over things I read there.
My husband only checks this list if he starts experience unusual pain or discomfort. More often than not, it’s the medication. Sometimes he tolerates it because it’s the best drug for him to take otherwise.