Wednesday, January 04, 2006

If There's A Cure For This...

When I was ten or eleven years old my best friend's brother was diagnosed was brain cancer. Soaking in the drastic news, I for some reason took it upon myself to begin an onslaught of question-asking and research regarding the causes, symptoms, and treatments. At this particular juncture in my life, my career interests were focused on the fields of paleontology, space travel, petty mischief and professional skateboarding. Although it would have been ambitious, plans to attend medical school had nothing to do with my cancer-studying motives. As my delving thoughts and education on the matter progressed, so did a new condition. Convinced that I too was suffering from a tumor, all of my mental capacities locked themselves into the textbook symptoms: I gave myself daily headaches, upset stomachs, and occasional bouts of dizziness. I often imagined myself, bald, emaciated and sock-eyed, trembling with my teary-faced parents at my side, in a hospital bed after multiple rounds of chemo treatment. For nearly a year, there was no doubt in my young little mind that a premature and painful death was absolutely imminent. Fortunately, my friend's older brother survived and so did I.

During Middle School, after watching a Nostradamus video in Histroy Class, I began plotting Armageddon survival tactics. I spent hours daydreaming of fallout and radiation sickness, hoping that I could somehow find a way to escape the end of times with my family and close friends intact. I came to accept the fact that despite my best interests, I'd never grow old, never see the sun rise after my freshmen year in College, and quite possibly, never experience, ahhhem, the S word. I began trying my best to live as though I only had about five years to go; which all in all, minus being crippled by terrifying and obsessive thoughts, isn't a bad way to go about your days and nights. Time passed and my Road Warrior Nuclear Winter obsession subsided. 1997 Rolled in and out, and I was still breathing.

I've had mutations, leukemia, half of the cancers known to human-kind, bunches of STDs, prank call death-threats that were bound to leave me drive-by-shot-up-bleeding-to-death-in-a-gutter, and a whole bunch of other shit. I dying all of the time. I'm sick all of the time. Right now, throat and lung cancer is where it's at. Minimally, the cough and sinus brutalization is a reality. The half to whole pack a day thing really isn't helping. Technically speaking, my synpases might just need a tuneup. What's the point? Well, most people, at least the thoughtful ones, have their share of baggage. Sometimes, making light of it or simply spouting it all out is the best mechanism of coping available. Oh, and before I forget, earlier this week I found
  • something that's bound to take this particular struggle to a maximal level.

    Blogger said...

    omfg....use this highly scientific test to determine if you are a hypochondriac. somehow, i bet you score pretty high!!

    1:27 PM  
    Blogger bmoss said...

    "You appear to have some signs of hypochondria, but not to any extreme point. You worry about unusual symptoms a bit more than the average person, and occasionally blow normal aches and pains out of proportion. It may be necessary to keep a close watch on our health and make the effort to stay "in touch" with our own bodies, but it shouldn't be something that causes major anxiety. You may want to keep your hypochondriac tendencies in check so they don't get the best of you."

    4:37 PM  
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