Noun: A person who is abnormally anxious about their health.
I think I am officially becoming a hypochondriac. You know, a little wacko. Every ache, pain and/or itch sends me down the I-think-the-cancer’s-back trail of doom and gloom. In spite of all the lectures I give myself, the Negative Nellie (that bitch, otherwise known as Hypochondria) who’s taken up permanent residence in my head won’t shut up.
She fights. She pushes. She taunts me.
She is determined to steal my “happy”.
I work hard to keep her from making herself visible to the rest of the world. So far I’ve been able to keep her locked up tight.
In my head.
Who knows how long it will be before she wins the war and I start talking in wicked, sick tongues.
Like I said.
I’m going crazy.
During the b.b.c. (before breast cancer) phase of my life, I was the sanest of the sane. Never the worrying type, I chose to dwell in the land of sunshine and roses. That place where magical unicorns live and everything gleams in hi-def, rainbow colors. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t escape “Mommy worry”. I just didn’t worry about my own health. I took reasonably good care of myself. I rarely drank. I never smoked. My diet was on the good side of average (most of the time) and I worked out frequently. The idea that rogue cells would even think of roaming around in my body was non-existent.
To say I was shocked when diagnosed with cancer, much less aggressive Stage 3 cancer, would be an enormous understatement. And the hits didn’t stop there. Within the first few weeks, if not the first few days, after the world stopped turning, I realized this was a life long sentence. Hopefully a really, really loooong life sentence.
Why am I destined to forever live with the “c” beast?
Because breast cancer can return. It can be a recurrence or it can metastasize to other areas of the body…most often the chest wall, bone, liver, brain or lungs. While I could elaborate on the differences and probabilities of either of these occurring, it would be easiest to direct you to BreastCancer.org. Anything you ever wanted and didn’t want to know about breast cancer can be found there. For my purposes today, I just need you to know where it can return and where that leaves me.
So exactly where does that leave me?
It leaves me nowhere good.
That information was my one way ticket to the land of lunacy as well as forever tying me to that Be-atch I mentioned at the beginning of this post. My b.b.c. worry-free days are gone.
Every time I ache, I immediately believe the demon is attacking my bones. Blurry eyes and dizziness means my brain now plays host to “c” cells. An annoying cough and suddenly my lungs are plagued with disease. Since allergies and side effects from my cancer-ain’t-coming-back medication can cause every single one of these symptoms, my mind is constantly filled with chatter that vacillates between crazy talk and semi-normal nothingness. It is never ending. And it is a total pain!
Trust that I am well aware the label of Crazy Lady isn’t “the worst that could happen to me”. But it is “the worst that could happen to me” that has turned me into the Crazy Lady.
So I pray for the best.
I rely on my faith.
And I trust that even should the worst happen, God is in control.