I descended into hypochondria at age 39, when I found a tiny lump in my breast. Normally, I wouldn’t have worried. My breasts are naturally very dense and lumpy, and my doctor had never seemed concerned. But this particular lump appeared during the most difficult time of my life—in the midst of watching my father die of cancer. Right after I found it, I went with my family to Dad’s oncologist’s office, where we would find out whether a hellish bout of radiation and chemo had killed the cancer growing in Dad’s esophagus. While we waited, I looked at one of those plastic cards that explain how to do a breast self-exam. I was still holding the card when the doctor came in and clipped some x-rays to a light board. He pointed to a small dark spot on my father’s liver. The cancer was spreading.
When I could stop crying, I realized I was still clutching the breast-exam card. It seemed like a sign. I went home and Googled “breast lump,” and what I read made my hands shake and my heart race. Suddenly, I couldn’t think of anything else. In the shower, at the dinner table, driving the kids to school, all I could think about was dying.
After that, I really was sick—just not with cancer. Hypochondria might seem like a joke, a label you pin on a friend whose health dramas never amount to anything. But like depression or anxiety, hypochondria is a recognized psychiatric disorder (it affects an estimated 1 to 5 percent of Americans). And, like those disorders, it exists on a continuum, from people who simply worry excessively about their health to those who are completely debilitated by fear. True hypochondriacs don’t just make up fake symptoms and imaginary pains in a bid for attention. Instead, every time a genuine symptom appears, they believe that something is terribly wrong. When a test turns up nothing, a hypochondriac worries anyway, sure the next test or doctor will uncover a serious or even fatal illness. I didn’t imagine the lump in my breast. What made me a hypochondriac is that no reassuring mammogram, ultrasound, or MRI could ever convince me I wasn’t dying.
After that first, panicky Google search, I went straight to my OB-GYN’s office to get the lump checked out. As a nurse gently prodded and kneaded, I chatted with her, trying to calm myself down. I was probably overreacting, I said, and explained that my father—the one person who could make me feel both completely protected and completely sure of my own strength—was dying. As close as Dad and I were, it was hard to separate what was happening to him from what was happening to me. The nurse nodded kindly. Then she said, “Oops, there’s a mass.”
A word like “mass” has a way of stripping all logic from the conversation. The nurse said it was probably nothing, but I needed a mammogram and an ultrasound to be sure. She told me repeatedly that this mass did not feel like cancer to her, that 80 percent of lumps, even the really suspicious ones, don’t turn out to be cancer, that it was “not time to start planning my funeral.” But to a woman with a mass in her breast and a dying father, the word “funeral” works like a dirty bomb, exploding into fragments that lodge deep in the brain.
The tests only confirmed that I have extremely dense breast tissue—the kind that makes it nearly impossible for a radiologist to see anything in a mammogram or an ultrasound. The next step? A biopsy. That turned out fine, and the cheerful surgeon reported that he wasn’t worried about me at all. But then he said I needed to return for another ultrasound in three months. Was he hiding something? If there was nothing amiss, why did I need to come back?
As it turns out, dense breast tissue is a risk factor for cancer, which is why neither that surgeon nor one I consulted for a second opinion would give me an all-clear. Three times that first year, I returned for scheduled exams. On two other occasions, I showed up with new lumps I was worried about. Every time, my test results showed nothing wrong. But instead of feeling relieved, I would brood about the cancer in hiding, the one the doctor didn’t catch.
I got so worried I could hardly work. I canceled dinner parties, refused to plan for the future. When decorations went on sale after the holidays, I’d think, “I might not live to see next Christmas,” and buy nothing. Meanwhile, my parents came to stay with me and my family, so I could help Mom care for Dad. One of my sons, trying to understand his grandfather’s illness, said, “You aren’t going to get sick, too, are you, Mommy?” He looked up at me trustingly, and the fear rose up in my throat so thick I could hardly breathe.
Before long the stress led to more symptoms that seemed to warrant follow-up: insomnia, heart palpitations, irregular periods, a constant stomach-ache. Over the next few years, I had pelvic ultrasounds, a colonoscopy, an endoscopy, a colposcopy, an EKG, and countless blood tests—and nothing was wrong. Most of the tests, I suspect, were ordered by my amazingly patient doctors to quell my fears. But the more testing I had, the more worried I became. Good test results were no solace during the three years it took my father to die, and the grieving year afterward.
For people debilitated by hypochondria, antidepressants and therapy may help. But I never considered these options, because, like so many hypochondriacs, I didn’t realize I was one. What “cured” me is the fact that I didn’t die. Time passed after my father’s death, and I began to recognize the connection between my fears and my grief over his loss. I realized that even if I couldn’t banish that fear entirely, I could take steps to keep it from spiraling out of control. Eventually, I stopped thinking of my body as a time bomb and began, finally, to think of it as the very thing that lets me live a happy life.
These days, I sleep better, and I laugh more. Checkups still make me nervous, but I talk myself out of the tree by remembering all the tests and biopsies that turned out fine. I no longer Google every little ache and pain because of the inevitable caveat: “Rarely, these are also symptoms of a more serious condition.” Instead, I take a wait-and-see approach. I’m more likely to worry if I’m exhausted or stressed, so I get eight hours of sleep, and I never skip my workout. I have a happy marriage, healthy children, deep friendships, interesting work. That’s always been true—by themselves, such blessings are no protection from hypochondria. But I now understand that a constant fear of death is the surest way to ruin my own blessed life. And in its own way, my bout with hypochondria has turned out to be a gift. The daily irritations that used to drive me to distraction—traffic delays, flaky coworkers, cancelled appointments—hardly touch me now. I’m too busy feeling grateful to be alive.
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Comments (19)
Your story really moved me as I’m not living the life that I could be due to my hypochondria. God bless you.
WOW, I am amazed at your courage. I know that my friends and husband think that I’m coo coo for being so intense but it’s true. Like Fibromyalgia, I think that Hypochrondria should be substantiated as a serious illness. I didn’t know that what I was feeling was an actual condition. I just thought that the devil was tormenting me. I obsess always about some illness and when someone has an illness or has died of a disease, I immediately begin to think that I will get that and panic. This is really dehabilitating and it’s even gotten worse since I lost my son Caleb last year. I pray that God will relieve me of this terrible state of mind. God bless you.
I’m the same. I’ve been to casualty and the doctors for all kinds of check ups and tests, and I’ve had the all clear, but I still worry a hell of a lot. I lie in bed at night in silence listening to my heartbeat, thinking it’s going to just stop.
For anyone who has problems at night particularly, like me, don’t watch TV or use your computer before you go to bed, as the bright lights stop you sleeping, and music will make you feel dizzy and sick.
This story was an eye-opener, much like others I have read. I remember being diagnosed, and being handed a booklet on Anxeity to read. It was so strange to realise that I’d been experiencing symptoms of something that is recognised and named, and so was a huge relief that it wasn’t actually a really serious illness. I still worry, but booklets and stories like this help. Thank you.
no worries i freak when i see little bumps on my vagina and nothing showed on my blood work this time. i also thought having a cyst on my overies ment cancer
i have a cyst on my cervics and thought it ment cancer and the nurse said other wise
Your story was so Touching to me i have been going through this for the last 4 years, i’ve been to the emergency department about 4 times been to countless doctors and had countless tests and still i worry and cause myself to have the symptoms that make me worry and stress. your story is one that makes me realise there is hope out there, and i don’t think anyone really knows how the feel until they experience it. i keep thinking that something good has to come out of this. thank you
I am glad you were able to overcome your fears. I have been a hypochondriac since I was a little girl. It was just when I was little I was afraid something horrible was going to happen to my parents. Now I worry about my own physical health way too often. I’ve had little problems here and there that I have blown out of proportion. Unfortunately I get costochondritis and chest pain is not to laugh about. I was in the hospital a week ago for it. Anyway, I know how it feels and I sympathize with anyone else who has this. I also think it is hereditary as it is considered a “curse” in my family and a lot of people on my grandpa’s side were like this. I hope I can get over it with time.
I have been going through a similar problem for the past 6 months, and am finally starting to realize how many of my symptoms are self-created, even though they feel and are real. Until now, I had no idea it was possible for hypochondria to appear out of nowhere, with no earlier signs or warnings. I still don’t know how to stop my mind from returning to it, over and over, but I think awareness is the best thing.
thank you for your story. I have been plagued with this disorder for about 5-6 years now, and it’s only gotten worse. I am in constant fear, and pray for help.
This article is definitely helpful. I have been to the doctor 7 times in the past month,put on anxiety medication and I have an appointment scheduled to see a psychiatrist in a few weeks.What started out as nothing,turned into what ultimately meant I had an incurable disease. How’d it start? Well…I was looking up symptoms and what popped up was absolutely horrifying.
It all went downhill from there. Each doctor appointment only meant that I was going to be told I had a disease. Everytime they told me I was fine,I just knew they were missing something or wasn’t looking hard enough.
My sister works at the ER and draws blood. She always has these horrifying stories to tell. Not knowing the state I was in,she told us all of a baby that had had a disease. My heart started racing,and all I could think was “Oh my god! I have a disease..this must be a sign”
It’s silly,but whatever may be wrong with me..I do know now that I will never take for granted normal stuff that I use to complain about.
Loved your story!
I have been suffering on and off for so many years,and the more unesseccary tests i have done the more worried i got.I finally had an mri which showed something so insignificant but at the time i thought it was MS.I had to travel to the Uk and send the MRI to so many doctors only to be told I was fine.However I found a therapist and for a year now I have realized what a gift life is and how unfair it is to be spoiling it by irrational fears.The fears are still there,I just stop magnifying them thats what I do.
By the way,trying to seek reassurance is the worst thing one can do.My mom tried to help by taking me to hospitals in the middle of the night,and every time the anticipation made me worse.When i heard i was fine i was so happy,and promised that it would be the last time but the happiness only lasted a dy or two,then i was in need of more reassurance.I spent a fortune visiting different doctors and private hospitals,and i was lucky in that my fear for medicine and drugs stopped be from becoming addicted which would have been so easy at the time.
My husband tried to ignore me and it was probably the best thing to do but at the time i felt he didnt care about me.I was avoiding going out(as i was afraid i would die of a heartattack)and i would never myself naked in the mirror as i was sure i would find a lump in my breast.I checked my moles everyday and once while flying i got a panic attack where i was sure to die.
Traveling used to be my whole life and the idea that i wouldnt be able to board a plane before made me so sad.Whats more i didnt want to have a second baby,cause i felt guilty of leaving two orphans when i die.I am still afraid but wont let it rule my life anymore.I travel again,and when i board the plane i try to think of all the pleasures in my life,mainly my son,to whom i owe to be mentally healthy too!Talking openly about it helps too,thank you for this opportuniry,its the first time i communicate what i have been through.Believe me all you need is to realize whats good in your life and focus on that.Do not take drugs,do not give in.If I can do it anyone can.
I have exactly the same problem. I am forever scared that I have cancer. :(
I’m the most scared of skin cancer and breast cancer– however, I’m also afraid of going to doctors because I’m scared of pain (like needles), and I’m scared of what they are going to say.
I don’t know what to do, I am forever prodding and poking at myself… I can’t take it anymore, and neither can my boyfriend of nearly two years… what can I do?
I have exactly the same problem. I am forever scared that I have cancer. :(
I’m the most scared of skin cancer and breast cancer– however, I’m also afraid of going to doctors because I’m scared of pain (like needles), and I’m scared of what they are going to say.
I don’t know what to do, I am forever prodding and poking at myself… I can’t take it anymore, and neither can my boyfriend of nearly two years… what can I do?
Thank you for your inspiring story. After my a relative (close in age) died of cancer, my struggle with hypochondria began. I was first convinced I had breast cancer (I didn’t); next it was skin cancer (it wasn’t) and now a bout of diarrhea has me concerned about colon cancer. Although I have a colonscopy scheduled, I continue to remind myself of the prior unsubstantiated concerns. Life is too short to spend it worrying about what MIGHT be…
I am struggling with hypochondriasis (at least I hope..haha..typical statement from a hypochondriac, right?).. Your story is very encouraging and I think your outlook on life is very profound. Why worry when worry only causes grief and even seemingly “real” symptoms? When worry is eliminated, then one is able to be more rational and efficient. Worry itself is the disease of all diseases as it steals from life and is curable by simply refusing to acknowledge it.
I think this may have been the most reassuring thing I googled. I recently found a little lump in my neck. I can only feel it with my finger and when my head is tilted. I went to see the Docter and he checked my neck and couldnt feel anything. So off I went to see another Dr who said the same thing. I still feel the pea size lump and cant think of anything else. I stop myself from feeling my whole body in search of lumps. I too lost a parent at a young age to cancer and am convinced I have it. Please help!
Over the last few years I’ve been convinced I’ve had almost every kind of cancer. I honestly thought I was the only person suffering with this kind of fear. It started after my first child was born and has continued for 4 years, now having a child of 11mos. Today I’m waiting for a biopsy of my labia which looks like cancer to me because of my obsessive googling. I want to think that it’s nothing because every other test this year has shown nothing. Colonoscopy, ultrasounds, bloodtests, pap smears…etc. I’m ruining our life financially, we have no insurance, and I’m ruining my family time with not being able to live in the moment. I’m missing important times with my children because of fear I will die of cancer and miss the rest of it. I’m not crazy…at least I recognize this is a pattern. But that doesn’t keep my body from reacting as if someone told me I have 2 months to live. This is my life. I’m 44 years old, have an amazing life and family and I’m living in constant, all consuming fear. Thanks for letting me vent to people who understand.
Connie Evans
Thank you. I needed this. So, thank you for taking your personal battle and making it public. I’m working really hard to get over these feelings, and people like you really help. I can relate to this more than any account I have ever read about. This fear has been more than debilitating. I can’t thank you enough.
Becky