The only thing worse than a chronic hypochondriac is a chronic hypochondriac with a level 70 Google mage and a black belt in fact-based conclusion-jumping.
It’s been four weeks since the Weapon of Sperm Destruction was installed in my uterus. So far, things have been fine – but I’m hyper sensitive to any potential side effects I may or may not be experiencing.
As with any drug, there’s a big list of horrible things that could happen to you. Mirena’s list is really no shocking or different than other methods of birth control: there’s the possibility of weight gain, acne, back aches, spontaneous elliptical pregnancy, superhuman sensory deprivation, articulated hamstrings. No big deal, really.
Unfortunately for me, while I definitely do not want any spontaneous miracle births, I also do not want to experience anything on that list. If I start showing even a hint of a possibility of a chance of a symptom, I freak the fuck out. Not by a little, either – I mean, I go completely over the top in a wild orgy of fear and prevention.
Two days after the WSD was inserted, I got a zit. Big fucking deal, right – most adults struggle with bad skin from time to time and I am no exception. This time, however, my minor (and frankly invisible) breakout wasn’t just the result of a clogged pore or two; it was the beginning of the end of my clear skin because obviously that one pimple meant that 754 more were on their way. I am not exaggerating when I say tears were shed. I immediately started to research drastic acne cures, from the celebrity endorsed (Proactive), to the last resort (Accutane), and all the way up to the insane (saliva, cow dung, the blood of a virgin drawn by a white cat under a full moon). I was ready to start decorating paper bags to wear during formal occasions because obviously I was days away from becoming a hideous mass of oozing flesh. I gave some serious thought to having the device removed, because I am just that vain.
Of course, the pimple went away and has yet to be joined by its disgusting brethren. My skin is just as good as it was while taking Tri-Cyclen (birth control also marketed as an acne cure), if not better. My over reacting gave me a lot of knowledge I don’t really need and a bathroom full of skin products meant for teenagers who rub up against strangers on the bus, but I’ll take those over the horrors of bad skin any day.
I wish the list of medical freak outs I’ve had over the last month ended here, but that is sadly not the case. My stupid rain pants were tight the day before my cycle began – clearly I am gaining weight by the horseful. I had to pee really, really badly after drinking several litres of liquid and accidentally lost a drop of pee before I was fully seated – clearly I am losing control of my bladder and will have to start wearing Depends. My abdomen hurts – clearly some sperm swam up into my tubes and made a baby in my spleen. It never ends – I am a hypothetical encyclopedia of horrible potential conditions, each one less likely than the last.
Knowledge and explosive melodramatic hyperbole are dangerous things.
delicious juice dot com 
Does it make me a bad person that I laughed at your pain? Repeatedly?
is it bad that I think hypochondria is hilarious?
Yeaaah. When I got back from Africa, I caught a cold. A normal fall cold. I, of course, assumed I had TB, cholera or malaria (possibly a combination of all three) despite the fact that none of my symptoms matched those of TB, cholera OR malaria.
We’ll be fine. :D
I’m am the opposite. Cold symptoms for 5 weeks that have mutated 3 times (including green goo)…bah, it’s just a virus. Missing a piece of a finger in a mandoline accident (it’ll grow back…and if it doesn’t I didn’t need it anyway right?) Stitches, I don’t need no stinkin’ stiches! You my dear, will live a long life in a body you love and take care of. I, will die a horrible death from a septic wound at the ripe old age of 38.
Lola: Not necessarily! My aunt is literally the woman who’s tombstone could read, “I told you I was sick.”
After a lifetime of hypochondria (and, granted, a TON of medical problems from epilepsy to near blindness) she complained of stomach pain. For two years. Eventually, they found advanced uterine cancer and mentioned that she had about 3 months to live.
Stupid doctors.
Also, I’m the type who’ll assume that I have Everything, but figure it’ll go away on its own anyway… c’mon, it’s not like medicine will DO anything about it, right? Right? hello?
I think I understand the total freak out feeling and definitely the looking every possible thing up on the intertubez.
For me, I was injured at work 2.5 years ago and, what was supposed to be a fairly minor Achilles injury well… wasn’t.
When they finally diagnosed me (y’know, after it had two years to get worse) I researched this uncommon condition. And with my newfound knowledge, became obsessed with finding the ‘objective’ (everyone can see) symptoms doctors – and more specifically, WCB – like. Hey, lookit! My leg is turning funny colours, OMG, get the camera! OMG, I think it’s (nerve disorder) is spreading! My leg is tingling HIGHER on my body than usual! OMG, my foot is twitching constantly; it must be getting WORSE!
I’m sure you get the picture. So, while I do have a legitimate (and, sadly, disabling) nerve condition, I also am working on NOT freaking out at every little spot or twinge as a sign that it, overnight, has doubled in severity, etc.
Otherwise, I’d drive myself crazy… but it might be too late, so feel free to come for a visit!
Oh – and as for the WSD, yeah, I could see that being nerve wracking. I mean, it’s inside you, where you can’t see it, doing possible good… or possible damage.
I wish that your WSD causes much happiness and baby-free humping with no speen babies or cystic, pizza-faced acne melting at all. :)
*giggle* I talked to my doctor about the chances of the WSD failing. She … didn’t really reassure me, because it seems that the symptoms of it working are exactly the same as the symptoms of it failing: No period. Either because it’s working, or because I’m pregnant. Damnit.
I prefer to assume it’s working. So far, I am baby-free, so I must be right.