Am I a hypochondriac?

by Jenni Prokopy, the Editrix

I had a brush with my old friend hypochondria recently. But Mark Levine's recent New York magazine article "Listening to Hypochondria" left me feeling secure that I'm not a hypochondriac, and hopeful for folks who really are. Allow me to explain:

Second nature

I grew up in a family of hypochondriacs. Without naming names, I'm comfortable saying that family members both close and far experienced rare and incurable illnesses and maladies, sharing all the gorey details and freaking out all us kids at family reunions. You name it, folks were sure they had it: HIV, hemophilia, Legionnaires Disease—totally freaky stuff.

nurse The problem was, as I got older, it was hard to tell if these experiences were real. Certain people were "cured" of certain illnesses that were—and still are—technically and completely incurable. And even though I was told I had "a touch of hemophilia" I lived through multiple bloody falls from bikes and swing sets and stuff, some I didn't even tell my parents about.

I didn't want to question my family members; I wanted to believe them, to help and support them. But at times the claims were so out there, it was hard to take them seriously. To complicate matters, they often also had REAL health claims, which needed to be taken seriously. It was really confusing!

Hypochondria...or not...or yes...oh, hell, who knows?

Eventually I learned to tune out a lot of it and hope they knew how to take care of themselves. And when I learned the term "hypochondria" in college, I felt a strong sense of recognition. So THIS was the reason I was so fixated on my body and its every bump and wrinkle; I had absorbed some of my family's hypochondria myself. I made the decision right then to chill out about my body, and that lasted for a few years until...

...I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 1997, after months of mysterious symptoms and a battery of tests, almost all with negative results. I was perplexed, frustrated and scared. Suddenly every cough and rash and pain just might mean something. I started cataloging my symptoms (per my doctors' orders) and it became an obsession.

Those few years in which I was obsessed with my body were exhausting. When you're convinced that you MUST have something serious that the docs just haven't confirmed yet, it's hard to concentrate on anything else. I was at the doctor every week, and he patiently explained over and over that I was obsessing and I needed to step back and get perspective.

The 24-hour rule

A day at the therapist's office was a big turning point: She explained that it's common for people with hard-to-diagnose chronic illnesses (like fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, multiple sclerosis and lupus) to become a bit obsessive after a diagnosis. After months (for some people, years) of living with undiagnosed illness and dealing with mysterious symptoms, everything seems to hold hidden meaning. It makes sense, but it's not healthy.

Slowly she talked me off the ledge and got my mind focused elsewhere. We even developed a 24-hour rule: if a symptom lasted more than 24 hours, THEN I was allowed to call my primary care physician about it. That rule cut my doctor appoints down to almost nothing. Turns out, obsessing over possible diseases was making me feel worse; directing my mind elsewhere allowed me to calm down and help me get real.

So while I learned I'm not really a hypochondriac, I definitely have obsessive tendencies that need to be monitored, especially when I'm feeling really bad physically or emotionally. The 24-hour rule stays in place.

Fall-down-go-boom offers new perspective

It had been a while since I doubted my ability to assess symptoms, and then I fell down some stairs with my bike a couple days ago, banging myself up pretty good. My right hand and arm hurt a lot, and I had x-rays taken because I feared a fracture. (A pal recently fell down and resisted medical care, but once he got it he learned he had a fracture, so he was on my mind.)

When the x-rays came back negative, my old habits returned in full force. Why did I get them in the first place? Was I over-thinking the pain? Was I obsessing and making it worse? Had I wasted money and energy? Was I being a hypochondriac?

Nope, I decided after a few hours of worrying. I was being proactive. I've never broken a bone, so I don't know what that feels like—I only knew it hurt like a mofo, and I wanted to be sure. That doesn't make me a hypochondriac; it makes me a normal girl after a bike accident.

And as I sat on my porch that afternoon (my wrist on ice), reading Mark's piece about hypochondria and new research into its origins and potential treatments, I realized I was OK. Sure, I might occasionally obsess about a weird bump on my arm or a new mole, but that's pretty normal.

And for folks who struggle with hypochondria, there is new hope for treatment using serotonin-reuptake inhibitors and other forms of therapy, which is great news. Now if only I can get some of my family into one of the new research studies...

To learn more, read Mark Levine's terrific article on hypochondria

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Posted: 6/19/2008 in Coping | Also posted in: Ask the Babe

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