I hear panic attacks

This has to be the craziest thing that's happened in quite some time. Last night as I'm brushing my teeth I started hearing this humming noise. Sort of like a high pitched mechanical noise. Instead of thinking something like "gee, that's a high pitched mechanical noise" I immediately went to "gee, what sort of medical condition causes the hearing of high pitched mechanical noises".

The medical dictionary that is my brain could only come up with two things. Aneurysm and high blood pressure. As a matter of fact, I thing if you drew a decision tree of my medical knowledge it would look something like this:

Does your head hurt?
     |
     |
Do you have ringing
in your ears?
     |
Back pain
     
Frequent Urination
     |
     |
Swollen Uvula
     | 
Dark Eyelashes
     |
     |
You are having 
an aneurysm.  Please
make sure your affairs are
  in order.

Simple, concise, accurate. I really don't understand what the other 7 years, 364 days of medical school or for. Probably something about negotiating insurance contacts and when to use a sand wedge instead of a pitching wedge.

Anyway, turns out when I went in to a different room I couldn't hear it any more... Go figure. An aneurysm that only happens while I'm brushing my teeth.

The thrill of Victor and the agony of de feet

Let me start by saying I have never been as proud of a post title as I am of this one. As you will see its pure genius. An interesting aside about my, we'll call it, "writing" style. I tend to write the title of the post and then everything comes from there.

This is anti-7th-grade-english where we were taught to outline the story and then outline the paragraph and then, once you woke up, fill in the blanks with actual sentences. I'm sure to many of you, this comes as no surprise. Anyway, back to the story.

I went on a bike ride yesterday. OK, "bike ride" is an understatement. This was something like a cross between "National Lampoon's European Vacation" and "Deliverence". We set out on a 80+ mile trek. There were five of us. Myself, who I consider to be an above averge but not spectacular rider, another who is just as strong (but 30lbs ligher, the bastard), a third who is almost there but could stand to train a little more, and two guys who like to ride but for one reason or another have issues keeping up. One of which is Victor.

Victor is a great guy. He's fun to work with, great to be around, and I can only describe him as Tony Robbins on crystal meth. He is a 100%, full-time, grade-A optimist. The kind of guy that can find the silver lining in nuclear war. Again, I digress.

I titled the ride "The first anual 'Oh my god, the horror, the agony' bike ride" in order to scare the less capable riders away. This did not work. This sounds like a snobbish statement. And, truth be told, it is. When going on a 6-hour bike ride to the middle of nowhere, you want to be careful who you choose. Its like the "who would you have on a deserted island?" question. No one ever picks Gilligan. You want The Professor.

After about 2 hours of riding Vic is tired. We haven't even gotten to the hard part yet. After 3 hours he's hurting. Then we start climbing. Let me say that I have a new disrespect for our civil engineers. We've sent men to the moon but we can't figure out how to get up and over a mountain without a series of switchbacks that look more like more like ladders than ramps. After 45 minutes of climbing straight up we reach the top. We meaning myself and the other strong rider. After about 10 minutes, the 3rd guy shows up. Another 10 minutes a fourth. No sign of Vic.

Here's where I have my first mini-panic. We're almost out of water and we have 3 more hours to go. The top of this mountain has what looks like a retirement villiage on it. I've somehow got it in my head that there might be "something" in the water. I do my best not to drink it for fear of some parasite or bacteria.

We head down the mountain and there is Vic on his cell phone. He's calling someone to come pick him up. We are at least 43 miles from East Egypt and he's giving up. Bad news. We convince hime to go to the next stop and then its all down hill.

Another hour of riding and we get to the next stop and there's no Vic. We wait. No Vic. We see three riders pass us and ask them if they passed another rider. No. We ride back and we hear someone yell at us from the side of the road. Vic is sitting on the porch of a U-Haul rental/taxidermy/country store with a guy who has, at most, 18 teeth. He can't go on. He won't go on. He's calling his wife to come get him. We tell him we'll go slow and that in another 11 miles its all down hill. he won't budge. Vic is broken.

Reluctantly we leave him with Bubba and as we ride away I swear I can hear banjo music and squealing pig noises... Here's where the wierd part kicks in. For the next hour I'm anxious. I'm worried about bee stings, fire ants, flat tires, how far we are from civilization, how long its taking to get home, my blood pressure, you name it, I'm freaking out about it. Vic started an anxiety storm.

For two hours we ride . All the while worried aboout Vic. He won't answer his phone (or can't) and hasn't called and left us a message to say he was picked up. Others are angry, I'm anxious. Not about Vic, but about me.

Its now Sunday night and I still haven't heard from Vic (I don't have his phone number so I sent him an email). I assume I'd get a call if he was missing. I'm still anxious.

We rode a total of 85 miles. Arriving back at our cars almost 7.5 hours after we left. This is a new personal best for me. My legs hurt, my feet hurt, I think my pancrease even hurts.

I'm not sure why being worried about Vic caused so much anxiety elsewhere. It does seem like there are triggers but its usually things like work or family that make me go off on a panic bender.

I'm sure I'll hear from Vic tomorrow and we'll all laugh. Or punch him. I haven't decided.

I haven't taken a bath in over a year

OK, before you become repulsed and question whether you should disinfect your keyboard (and your eyeballs) let me say that I take (at least) one shower a day. I'm speaking specifically here about baths. As Kramer put it so succinctly, "stewing in a tepid pool of one's own filth".

I used to enjoy baths to some extent. Especially after a long workout or bike ride. I'd sit in the tub and read a book or a magazine and just waste time. Then I started worrying about my blood pressure. The what-if engine started revving and I worried about all kinds of things. Mostly about passing out and drowning. This has in some way prevented me each time from taking a bath. Yeah, crazy, I know.

I do enjoy my hot showers on a daily basis but even those, sometimes, scare the livin bejesus out of me. Especially if I'm having an 'episode' of low blood pressure. This, of course, is probably totally ficticious and is simply me being tired and/or freaking out. Which means my BP is probably actually up...

Anywho. Yesterday I had a particularly long and arduous (more on this later) bike ride yesterday and I caught myself worrying about taking a hot shower because I felt weak.

Yes, you read correctly. I'm now afraid of water droplets that fall from a brass fixture. If I could sell tickets to my mind, I'd be a millionaire.

Get up git git git down 9/11 scared the crap out of me

Hypochondria is a disease of selfishness. Its all about me. How do I feel today? I'm sick. I need to see a doctor. Are my lymph nodes swolen? Is that mole on my back cancer? I've found it interesting that I manage to turn any event even remotely medically related into a personal strife.

I submit to you as exhibit A, how I handled 9/11 and the anthrax scare of 2001. You might ask "what could this possibly have to do with you, who lives at least 1000 miles away from said carnage?" To you I'd say "shush, I'm talking about me"

The day the planes hit the World Trade Center I was on my way to get blood work done (imagine that). This should have been the test that told me I needed cholesterol drugs. Instead, I couldn't find the lab so I went to work (I wasnt' able to avoid those pesky drugs, though). By the time I got there, the first plane had hit and the second was on its way. I panicked. I work on the 6th floor in the tallest building downtown (24 stories). In my mind, this meant I was next. I concoted some story about needing to go home and wait for relatives to call. I went home and watched CNN and Fox News for the next 6 months.

In the coming days I got increasingly worried that we'd be attacked. The slightest vibration would practically send me flying under my desk (somehow this seemed safer even though, technically, it'd be closer to the explosion). I'd find ways to come in late so that I wouldn't be there at "the best time" for the terrorists to attack. All U-haul, Ryder, Fed-Ex, UPS, ice cream, mail, and pickup trucks became suspicious. At times even girl scouts on bicycles looked ominous.

Then the Anthrax hit. Not anywhere near here, of course. But it might as well have infected my whole town. I went online and contemplated purchasing Cipro (or, it turns out, pills that say "Sip pro". I purchased these carbon masks that were basically surgical masks "guaranteed" to give you 5 minutes in a building that was under biological or chemical attack. I thought I had anthrax for 3 solid months. I even contemplated moving to Canada.

This is all embarassing looking back on it now. I never realised just how selfish I can be some times. It wasn't bad enough that 3000 people died and a dozen got anthrax. I had to make it about me.

I have no point to this. Only observations. Its like I'm working a 12-step program and this is my inventory. My name is Dave, and I'm a hypochondriac.

Opening a can of whoopass on the "what if" engine

I haven't mentioned this sort of thing in a while. When I was in therapy we went over a "technique" I'm supposed to (and do) use when I get anxious. The technique is called mindfulness. Mindfulness is defined as:

[...]the paying of bare or direct attention to each moment of our lives[...]

The basics of this I outlined in a post many moons ago (almost a year...wow!) called Woooosaaaaaa. The goal is to call things what they are. If you're saying "what if" then you simply tell yourself "self, this is anxiety". It seems simple at first. But, the trick is knowing what's anxiety. We're so good at it that we can be anxious and not even know it. Mindfulness requires that you pay almost constant attention to the thoughts you're thinking while you think them. Realizing you were anxious an hour later is really of no use. In reality that will probably make you more anxious about being anxious which means, like me, you need drugs and a good stiff shot of whiskey to calm down.

I still practice this on a regular basis. Even during the periods I feel well (like now) I still catch myself "what if-ing" like in the last post. At that moment I stop the thought and remind myself that its anxiety, that just because I'm not near a hospital it doesn't mean I'll have a heart attack. I've yet to have one in the 31 years I've been near them, why do I expect to have one now.

This takes practice. We're our own worst enemy. At first I found it exceedingly difficult to believe myself. After a while though, I proved myself right. I didn't have a heart attack. Its the same positive reinforcement you use to train dogs and babies.

Anyway, try it sometime. Use it along with meditation and I promise you'll see a difference. Here's a rather lengthy article on mindfulness:

Mindfulness

I am not made for the mountains

Allow me to make a list of all the things than ran through my head this weekend during my trip to the mountains. Lets remember, this is a house with running water, electricity, an electric gate (with remote control) satelite TV and cell service.

1. I wonder if there are fire ants (I actually started thinking this about a month ago)

2. What if I need an ambulance? it might take an hour to get here.
3. How would I call said ambulance if my cell phone doesn't work?
4. I wonder if I'm allergic to anything else up here?
5. What if it takes more than 2 epi-pens to stop whatever reaction I have should I be bitten by something from question 4?
6. Do any of the people I'm with know CPR?
7. How will I know if my blood pressure is high?
8. I'm dizzy maybe its low blood pressure (this was after a night of drinking then rising at 5AM to pee. I imagine this was actually caused by still being drunk)
9. Is that a fire ant?
10. Repeat thought 9.
11. Repeat thought 10.
12. Repeat thought 2 and 3 because of thoughts 9-11.

And there you have it. A "relaxing" weekend in the boonies hypochondria style.

Hypochondriacs Unite!!!

Actually, the title of this post should be "Hypochondriacs Unite (But wash your hands first because I don't want to get sick). But, I think that might be a little long. Anywho.

I got a comment that really put this blog in perspective. The gist of the comment being that the commenter is starting to blog their (notice the smooth usage of impersonal and gender non-specific pronouns) hypochondria as a way to see just how irational she/he/they are being.

Maybe this is why I do it. I don't know. Of course I know I'm irrational. Even though the idea that I know I'm irrational is actually a rational thought (wow). I think most people who are so 'afflicted' know they're irrational. I don't know that I've ever met a hypochondriac that truly thought they were sick 24/7. Its just those short (a relative term) periods of time where the fear and anxiety is overwhelming. Those are the times when you need a release.

Its important to get them out. I've said before that I don't think you should burden the general population with your (our) delusions. At least not the specifics (my toe hurts, I have a basil cell carcinoma, you know, the regular stuff). First off it makes that person very uncomfortable and not want to be around you. Secondly, they can't possibly understand and will either worry needlessly because you've conviced them you're sick, or just laugh and call you a moron.

Only one psycho can truly understand another. Even though the blog is cathartic for me, I really hope others can see that we all think the same way, we just have different diseases...