Samiul Bashar Samin
Hypochondriacs have existed as the ultimate bane for doctors all over the world. You know you’re a hypochondriac when you walk into the doctor’s chamber and he sighs and asks, “What is it this time?” Yours truly knows this feeling all too well. To be honest, at this point I think my poor doctor is sick of seeing my face although it’s rather unusual especially since his wallet grows fatter as mine goes thinner due my frequent visits.
I would blame my shortcomings on the advent of the internet. Now, every time I have a pimple on my cheek, I check the internet for remedies and end up looking at how much a surgery to remove a tumor from my cheek would cost. When you’re hypochondriac, a sneeze is never just a sneeze. It’s probably a symptom for Ebola or some other life threatening disease.
To be honest, it isn’t all dark clouds. I think my local pharmacy salesman loves me. I mean, he does have a wide grin on his face every time I walk in. And he always has a ton of medicine for me to try. In any case, it’s just nice making new friends.
Everyone I meet on the road these days avoids asking me how I am because it ends up with them listening to me rant for an hour about my health and how I’ll die soon.
Well, I might die alone and self-conscious, but at least I won’t die because of a disease that never got diagnosed.