I’m not a potential criminal, but I can’t help feeling like the psycho killer in the song of the same name by the Talking Heads:
I can’t seem to face up to the facts
I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax
I can’t sleep ’cause my bed’s on fire
Don’t touch me I’m a real live wire
I’ve been hospitalized three separate times in the past month–once for a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in my lung) and twice for cellulitis–a bacterial infection in my leg. The infections were likely caused by a combination of my chronic lymphedema (swelling and inflammation caused by a badly damaged lymph system) and the procedure I had done for the embolism–which utilized a tube inserted into the leg to administer clot busting drugs.
Anyway, I can’t help but think the worst. My appointment with the hematologist to determine if I have a hereditary predisposition to clotting has led me to daydream about all the terrible diseases my body is harboring. After thinking about my symptoms, I self-diagnosed myself with one disease and I am STILL only partially reassured after some google research showed I have about a one in 250,000 chance (0.04%) of having that condition. (My medical degree is apparently from WebMD.)
So, breathe, let yourself get stronger, walk the dogs everyday and truly believe that every little thing’s going to be alright.