Doctor Me

I have seen so many episodes or Grey’s Anatomy, I’m basically a doctor. Truly – med school is how many years? Because I bet I’ve spent that many hours watching Dr. McDreamy operate on brains. I admit, I probably need a bit of time in the OR if I’m going to cut, but that’s just the practical side. I’ve got the book learning covered thanks to my girl, Shonda. In fact, I know too much. One time my grandmother’s leg was very swollen. I convinced myself and the whole family that she had a rare condition known as compartment syndrome, a painful and dangerous condition caused by pressure buildup from internal bleeding. When her doctor returned our frantic weekend calls, she informed us that given the fact that my grandma had not experienced any recent traumas, this was very unlikely. Luckily for us, my grandmother’s compartment syndrome cleared itself right up and I never had to relieve the pressure with a kitchen-knife surgery. Grey’s has also taught me to beware that a runny nose can in fact be spinal fluid leaking through your face. I worry about paralysis every time I blow my nose…

Google and WebMD are the best and worst things to happen to hypochondriacs. First my mother and then my last therapist forbid me from visiting WebMD anymore, so I can’t say with certainty that this is still the case, but they used to have a “symptom checker” which was basically free online entertainment for me. The trouble was, no matter what I did, the symptom checker always gave me the same result: CANCER…

After my eldest child was born, I entered into what can only be described as an abusive relationship with his pediatrician. I had done ample research and selected the practice I was sure was the best of the best. The fact that they didn’t accept our insurance didn’t seem to phase me or my husband – only the best for our precious baby, after all! How much could a few doctor’s visits cost, anyway? Well, $7k later and trips to every pediatric specialist in the city revealed that despite my insistence (and Dr. Google), our son was healthy and thriving, and my neuroses, if left unchecked with this doctor, were going to lead to us taking out a second mortgage. You see, this pediatrician encouraged my irrational worries. When some late-night googling led me to believe that my son’s sleep-twitches were actually rare and dangerous seizures, she sounded the alarm bells and sent us on our way. When I worried that his circumcision had become infected, she agreed it looked red and called the surgeon. He was always fine. It took me a long time, but I was finally able to extricate myself from this unhealthy relationship.

Published by imworriedmytherapisthatesme

I'm a history-PhD-turned-stay-at-home-mom of three. When I'm not microwaving Trader Joe's meals for my kids, breaking up fights and wiping butts, I like to paint and write. To cope with the endless hours I'm spending with my son doing virtual school, I've abandoned my gouache paints for the more portable, less messy tried but true, paper and ink. While he learns to read to 20 floating heads on his screen, I sit on a tiny chair, at a tiny table pretending to be a productive adult.

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