Hypochondria, Anyone?

For us practicing hypochondriacs, this has an especially stressful year.

When the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention first began listing COVID-19 symptoms, we immediately began to worry, even more than usual, about every sneeze and every cough. We were terrified when a trip up the stairs left us even mildly out of breath. We raced to the medicine cabinet for our trusty thermometers if we felt even slightly feverish.

A few weeks later as more symptoms were identified we went on the alert for chills, for repeated shaking with chills, for muscle pain and headache, and for sore throat. Next, we began to wonder, does that taste right? Am I not smelling that garlic?

Somewhere along the line, stomachaches and diarrhea appeared on the list, didn’t they? And wasn’t there something about delirium, chickenpox-like lesions, red rash, widespread hives, and even “odd frostbite-like patches” on the toes? Of course, that elephant seated on your chest could be anything, right?

Don’t misunderstand. This is not to make light of COVID-19, its many symptoms, or especially its victims. Not in the least. There’s absolutely nothing funny about the pandemic that had killed more than 189,000 Americans by Labor Day. (Well, ok, the president’s musings about Lysol injections were slightly amusing.)

But seriously, this really is no joke for avowed hypochondriacs who, like me, suffer from the fear that almost every ache or itch is going to kill us. In fact, the pandemic has probably inducted many to the health-related anxieties that I’ve felt for as long as I can remember.

A few years ago after I had mentioned my hypochondria to a surprised work colleague, she presented me with something called “A Hypochondriac’s Key to Worst-Case Scenarios,” aptly subtitled “Yes, You’re Probably Dying.” It’s a wheel that you can spin to confirm your worst fears. Listed on the wheel’s outermost section are 40 symptoms — from malaise to chest pain to muscle spasms to itching. You choose a symptom, then spin the arrow to reveal the worst-cast scenario. With each symptom you get a couple of different scary possibilities, but you’re helpfully provided with (1) a specialist you should see, (2) what you should be obsessing about, and (3) what might actually be wrong.

For instance, if you point the arrow to “cough” you’ll learn that a cough is “a bacterial lung infection” but also you’re also warned that, in fact, you may have “tuberculosis.” Next, you’re directed to see a “pulmonologist” and advised to start obsessing about a “sanitarium stay” before being notified that it’s probably a cold.

The wheel was published in 2005, so COVID-19 doesn’t appear anywhere. However, both SARS and Ebola are covered. With Ebola your obsession should be “bleeding from the eyes.” And with SARS? With SARS, you should obsess about “wearing a mask.” Imagine that.

I keep the wheel handy as a reminder that irrational fear of the unknown is not uncommon. Some of these fears are not only hard to shake, but they may also be useful. Our lizard brains, the part that deals with fight or flight, are adept at signaling danger. But irrational fear easily leads to unproductive anxiety. In March, a Brown University psychiatrist, Dr. Judson A. Brewer, wrote a column in the New York Times just as COVID-19 was kicking into high gear. He described how anxiety can become contagious, which means that our individual anxieties are fueled by the anxiety we sense around us. If everyone is afraid of running out of toilet paper, then I’ve got to be afraid of that, too. Hence, empty shelves.

Dr. Brewer recommended a “brain hack” by recognizing how unrewarding anxiety is while consciously choosing more rewarding and less anxious behavior. He offered this example: If you touch your face and immediately begin to worry that you’ll get sick, take a deep breath and ask, “When did I last wash my hands?” Once you recall that you just washed your hands and that you’ve been washing them so frequently you’ve got very little skin left, you’ll realize that your odds of getting sick are low.

That’s excellent advice and I have promised myself I’ll try it — as soon as I’ve Googled brain cancer.