Germphobic

December 1996

During my senior year in college, my friend Kelly and I managed to completely warp our roommate. She came to the living arrangement a rather normal person, but by the end of the semester, Jennie had become one of us. We three were card-carrying members of Hypochondriacs R Us.

Colds were really bronchial infections, headaches became advanced brain tumors, joint aches were the beginnings of rheumatoid arthritis. We were known by first names at the student health union, and many of our sorority sisters came to us with health questions, as we each owned a well-worn copy of the latest medial guides.

And Hypochondria Hype has followed us all into our careers.

Jennie’s wrist hurt while she typed, and faster than you can spell Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, she was at the doctor’s office being evaluated for bone cancer. Turns out, her pain resulted from a ganglion cyst, one her boyfriend offered to remedy with a thick book. She vehemently declined his medical assistance.

Kelly, a teacher, restrains herself with great force from wearing a biohazard suit and a face mask each day to school during cold season. Hand washing is essential, as is Lysol. Since she is surrounded constantly by pint-size petri dishes, Kelly does rack up more than the average person’s share of viruses. This does little for her hypochondria, I tell you.

In fact, I’m often banned from spending too much time with my fellow card-carriers. Left alone, we sickness freaks can turn a pimple into the flesh-eating virus. Even left to my own devises, I have been known to call my doctor and beg for blood tests when I feel a raised gland, to inspect each mole until my eyes cross and to chart each off beat as a possible sign of heart failure.

Yet perhaps most damaging to the psyche of a borderline mental case like myself is watching medical-themed shows such as "ER." Like a caffeine addict who knows one more cup will send her over the edge, I often indulge in too much medical hoopla. When I start asking my doctor why she hasn’t ordered a complete chem panel on me, I know I’m in need of some 12-step group.

Granted, we hypochondriacs are often more in tune with our bodies. We schedule our annual exams without fail, sign up for yearly mammograms and eye exams. If a fever or sore throat persists more than three days, we’re sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for a diagnosis and some antibiotics.

I believe that the one thing all degrees of hypochondriacs share is the gift of fear. Being sick is not something anyone wishes for, especially because illness steals the person’s control. Having to depend on others to make the sickness disappear, if it will, is a nightmare.

So we try to regain control by obsessing about illness. If we can catch it early enough, we can fight it. If we can fight it, we can win.

If we can only stop obsessing about our runny nose, we might realize we’re not dying of sinus cancer, but rather in need of a tissue.