Things That Shouldn’t Happen to a Hypochondriac # 237
So, last week I noticed that, from time to time I could feel a “pulse” going in my stomach, almost as if there was a very small animal in there and it was trying to FIGHT ITS WAY OUT. (Or, actually, more like a pulse, to be honest.) GOD. Well, at first I thought this was nothing, but I only thought that for a few minutes, then I thought, “Actually, I bet this is not nothing at all: I bet this is something, and I bet this something is very, very serious, and that it will kill me, and I will never get to finish my novel or ride that pony that I just BET my parents have bought me for Christmas FINALLY.” This is because I am a hypochondriac, you see, and because I am a hypochondriac, I decided to consult the good Doctor Google on the matter.
Now, if you suffer from even the slightest degree of health relaxed anxiety, I say this to you now and I want you to listen good: NEVER DO THAT. Neither a symptom-surfer or a complete freaking idiot be, for when you consult Doctor Google about the pulse you can feel in your stomach, you will very quickly discover that you’re suffering from either:
a) Absolutely nothing at all
b) An abdominal aneurysm. (Or, as I keep calling it, “An abominable aneurysm).
Guess which one I thought I had?
Now, I have been reassured beyond any question of doubt that no, I am not suffering from an abominable aneurysm and am, in fact, suffering from a severe dose of Nothing At All. So there is absolutely NO NEED for anyone to comment here to the effect that OMG that sounds really serious and I am probably going to die, because that would be really mean and cruel and it is NOT an aneurysm, abominable or otherwise. And anyway, it’s stopped now, and if it was an aneurysm it wouldn’t have stopped, it would just have killed me.
Anyway, on my way out of the gym today I stopped to leaf through Vogue (the main benefit of joining the gym: no need to buy the glossy mags!) while I was waiting for Terry, and I overheard the following conversation between a bunch of people standing to my right:
WOMAN ONE: Yeah, so we’ll be spending Christmas with my sister-in-law: you know, the one who had the ANEURYSM.
WOMAN TWO: Oh, God, how is she? After the ANEURYSM?
WOMAN ONE: Well, she can walk and talk a bit now that she’s recovered from the ANEURYSM so that’s good.
WOMAN TWO: And that’s been how many years now since she had it? The ANEURYSM, I mean?
WOMAN ONE: Two. But at least she’s started talking again, you know? She has to write everything down though, mind you, because she totally can’t remember a thing. Because of the ANEURYSM.
And so it went on. When they got to the “writing everything down” bit it dawned on me that they were talking about a BRAIN aneurysm, not an abominable one, and it’s been almost two months now since my last one of those, but even so it freaked me out good. And this, my friends, is why you should never look up health symptoms on the Internet. Trust me, no good will come of it.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Nobody, and I mean NOBODY is to comment here about how their Great Aunt Ethel had the exact same thing and well, is dead now. Trust me when I tell you that I am now fine, and all is well in the land of hypochondria. Or it will be, as long as you don’t send me messages about death.
Side note: During the writing of this entry I discovered that I have absolutely no clue how to spell “aneurysm”. Number of different spellings I came up with: five. Go me!