Okay, time for a little embarrassing truth telling here.
For most of my life, until I began on seroxat, I was a chronic worrier. I always dismissed it as just me being stupid. It wasn't anxiety or depression or anything proper like that but just me being self-centred and obsessive.
And the thing I worried about most of all was cancer. That Husband or my children or I would have it. Every little spot or twinge would set me on my downward spiral of obsessive thought. Over and over and over I'd repeat in my head why there was no need to be anxious. As soon as I finished my liturgy I'd begin again. I'll just say it once more, I'll convince myself this time. I forgot how to smile; I was too wrapped up in misery. The only thing that would stop a particular anxiety would be the onset of a new one.
I'd stop worrying about breast cancer because now I had skin cancer. I'd stop worrying about skin cancer because now it was a brain tumour.
Which brings to today.
No, I don't have a brain tumour but I convinced myself I could have.
I've had a strange smell in my nose for some time. In one of my previous fear attacks I must have read somewhere that having an unidentified smell in your nose could be a sign of brain tumours because I suddenly thought it. And that was the spark.
I'll google it. No, I won't. I don't want to know I'm right. But better to know and do something about it. And anyway you might be wrong so that will reassure you. So I googled it ... and the first thing that came up was, 'A strange smell can be a sign of brain tumours.' Oh wonderful.
So it was down to the doctor for me this morning. Feeling very slightly embarrassed.
But she was very nice and understanding. She asked lots of questions and did some simple tests before she said, 'You can put brain tumour out of your head.'
She suspects it's the rhinitus I have (I didn't know that a constantly runny nose had a name but apparently it does) or the bit of a cold. She offered me a nasal spray but I said I'd wait and see if it disappeared of its own accord first.
So I danced out of the surgery feeling reassured. Needless to say a few hours later I'm stressing again. But I shall try and be sensible. After all last time I was convinced I could smell a strange banana-ey smell it turned out there was a rotten banana in the room.
6 comments:
I'm glad the doctor cleared that up for you!
how can you make me laugh about something like cancer.
but the banana did it!
except I would caution.
even though he smoked. and he smoked a lot...
my husband had a fear of choking all his life. and he died of throat cancer when he was 43.
well actually cancer of the esophagus. and yes. it was horrible. two teams of surgeons worked on him.
they took 1/2 of his stomach and rebuilt his esophagus. it's the same type that Humphrey Bogart had. you may be too young to remember Bogart and Bacall.
anyway... the point of it all is ~ "that which you fear shall come upon you!"
I think I believe it. even tho I might have quoted it wrong.
not so good or healthy to worry or borrow trouble!
Yes, debra, sometimes a little reassurance is all I/we need.
Oh that's horrid, Tammy. I know what you mean and normally these days I am much less fearful. And of course i remember Bogart and Bacall!
I’m a bit of a serial worrier about my health too. In my case it’s worry about Dementia or Alzheimer's, sometimes I have a funny little turn and think “Oh lord that’s another few hundred brain cells gone” The other day I was thinking about baking with the blackberries I have been picking, I thought pies, crumbles and..... I really struggled to remember strudel! Apparently though you’re ok if you know you can’t remember! I’m glad you don’t have a brain tumour.
Yes, that's reassuring, Polly. When I walk into a room I know I went into it for a reason; I just can't remember what it is.
Hunky Husband (HH) obsesses over Alzheimer's Disease, his mother having died from it according to her autopsy. Elder Brother, following two heart attacks in 10 days of 1983 has panic attacks - even worse since 9/19/2015 on which date his heart stopped while he was out running. He will no longer run, at all - sticks to walking. I guess I can't expect every 82-year-old to run as much as HH does - three times/week, three miles.
Fortunately, I leave worrying about health to the guys. My heart is leaky but it continues to beat!
Hope all of your parts continue to work well, Liz.
Cop Car
P.S. Polly, just send your strudel this way, please. I don't make strudel, but HH's mother (from Serbia), did.
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