All the Symptoms
Since I discovered WebMD, my resolve to never visit another doctor, or hospital, has been stronger than ever. The only exception being when I nicked an artery, and realised that an industrial strength plaster wouldn’t cut it.
I’m scared of doctors. I won’t take medication. I hate hospitals. I could easily be patient zero in the ensuing viral apocalypse.
I was pretty sickly as a kid, or at least that’s what I was led to believe. I never felt that ill. I was an asthmatic child. This meant I was constantly being scrutinised by doctors, and my mother would have a panic attack when I played Hide and Seek, believing me to have silently suffocated in some corner of the house.
Like I said I never felt that ill. But not being able to breathe and subsequently passing out may have warped my judgement. During severe attacks, the GP would be called to give me a suppository.
Yes. You read it right.
Was the ass the quickest way to the lungs? Maybe I could swallow the tablet. Surely if I was kicking and screaming it was proof I was able to breathe? But my best arguments never worked. I would spend the rest of the day breathing easily and sulking.
I learned to hide the attacks out of pride. I never trusted that doctor. He put all my ailments down to asthma.
Sore throat and fever? Asthma.
Need stitches out after you were run over? Maybe the car hit you because your asthma left you too weak to cross a simple road.
I decided to adopt the old “Physician Heal Thyself” motto. Ok, I’m not a physician, but apparently neither was my GP,as we discovered when we heard of all the malpractice suits came flooding in.
Being my own doctor I’ve discovered diagnosis is hard. So many illnesses have similar symptoms. Diarrhoea could mean food poisoning, Gastroenteritis, or IBS. All three are possible after eating questionable street food at 4am.
I’ll check another website for a second opinion. But sometimes their diagnosis is worse than Web MD and I end up bequeathing my music collection to my brother via Whatsapp.
Maybe I’m a bit of a hypochondriac, I accurately fit the Buzzfeed profile. I’ll think Dengue Fever, or premature menopause, before I check to see if someone left a radiator on.
Or maybe it’s just good common sense. How many hangovers have turned out to be meningitis or Swine Flu?
Maybe I’m indestructible?
I am currently wishing I had taken part in those drug trials I saw advertised on the tube last year.
They pay two grand a pop. And blindness and/or anal discharge doesn’t seem as bad as whatever it is I’ve got at the moment.
If I die may my epitaph read “I knew Dengue had come to Acton.”
Originally published at runslikeabeigegirl.wordpress.com on July 22, 2015.