Foaming at the Mouth

A few nights ago, while I was fighting to sleep, my thoughts took a rather obsessive turn and I followed through with my obsession and hit up Google, for the thousandth time, about a topic already in my search history. After roughly an hour of hiding under the covers with my phone so as not to wake my husband with a jarring light, I realized exactly what I was doing and grounded myself. Then I posted a jest on Facebook about how absolutely crazy I can make myself.

While it was a joke, it was obviously received loud and clear.

The topic is a very serious one.

I have lightly touched on the invincibility a childhood cancer survivor can feel and how it affected my breast cancer diagnosis. I generally put off going to the doctor over anything until it was too late- until I had developed a fever of 101 or until I had realized exactly how gross and sand papery those lumps felt (one month after my boyfriend told me to go have them checked out).

At several points in my life I had the gall to say, “Life is not so cruel that I would have TWO TOTALLY DIFFERENT CANCERS before I hit 30/50/70.”

Well, life showed me, didn’t she?

So the topic of interest is the level of hypochondria I have now.

Pardon my French, but this shit gets crazy!

The status I posted is as follows:

This whole second cancer before 30 is turning me into an insane hypochondriac. I used to be exactly the opposite (which led to putting off going to the Dr about my booby lumps). Blake is too, only he’s all, “I think I’m getting a cold/the flu/a stomach virus/ear infection” but it’s usually because he sneezes once. I, on the other hand, think of some really morbid stuff because I’m (probably) having side effects from my cancer treatment. I Google to see if it’s a side effect- if it’s not or is uncommon I Google more. The next thing I know, I have 7 new cancers and rabies.

I think I’m a little misleading in blaming Google for my self diagnosis, because sometimes I give myself a diagnosis and check to make sure that I am correct.

I have never been offered any support emotionally when it comes to my recent diagnosis (As far as professional support goes) and I am finding that to be kind of weird. This is obviously a real phenomenon. Of course we do this to ourselves! Even if we only do it every now and then at 4 in the morning and we can ground ourselves and make jokes about it- it is real.

I don’t think I realized that until I read all of the comments I received.

I also think I am more on edge about what is going on with my body because I have an oncologist that is so unreceptive to my worries, so blasé about my aches and pains and side effects. Not only that, but my general physician is a complete twat and the office is a joke. Seriously.  (I’d love to change to another one but this is not currently an option).

Anyway, these are all topics I intend to mention when I mean with Dr. N on Friday.

I’ll keep you guys posted.

And no worries- I am not going nuts over here, I am balanced, I do not worry a lot (but when I do, WHAM), I know I don’t actually have rabies, etc etc etc.

I am fine. However, my humor may be a bit morbid.

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