Dr. Feelbad and the Raging Hypochondriac
An old diagnosis that still makes me sick to my stomach today.
I’ve been in doctor’s offices, hospital lobbies, and emergency rooms on six continents and in 15 countries — from the United States to Argentina to Thailand to South Africa to Australia to the Balkans. But one check-up in Sydney several years ago stands out because it still makes me sick to my stomach today.
My then-latest medical emergency had started two nights earlier with an uncomfortable physical sensation just under my chin and a sinking feeling directly above it. I was prepared for the worst… again.
An air bubble had blown into a tight spot near the top of my throat. It camped out there for several hours, refusing to budge — or just pop already. I convinced myself I was in the throes of what would be a fatal heart attack. I lived alone, so my secondary concern was how long my corpse might lay rotting before somebody found it.
I got dressed and walked around the block several times. If I collapsed in public, at least my decomposing remains wouldn’t have to wait until the next day or later to be found, after I failed to show up for work.
