When I was about 7 years old my cousin was french braiding my hair after I got out of the bath. As we sat on the floor of Grandma’s living room she had my hair tangled between her fingers as she remarked, “You are losing so much hair, you must have cancer.” Well, first of all, obviously that was wrong. Second, that was a terrible thing to tell a 7 year old (or anyone for that matter).
I blame her for my hypochondria.
I lose a lot of hair in the shower. Like, this is enough to create a wig. Is there something wrong with my immune system? I’m going to be bald by the time I’m 30.
What’s that red dot on my stomach? Can I get chicken pox still? I bet it’s the Zika virus.
My toes are shaped differently than they were 5 years ago. Do I have arthritis? I bet I’ve got some crippling disorder that no one has ever heard of.
My throat hurts. I must have tonsillitis.
My stomach hurts. I probably have the flu. No, better yet, I probably have the swine flu. Or the H1N1 or whatever is killing people right now.
I feel nauseous. I must be 3 months pregnant. Nope, I think I just felt it kick. I bet I’m going to end up on that show on TLC = I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant.
I can’t breathe out of one nostril the right way. There’s gotta be something wrong with my sinuses. I wonder if something got stuck up there in my sleep. It’s probably a spider.
My skin is dry. I’ve gotta have eczema. I’ll probably look like a lizard soon.
My poor, poor husband. Every day I am dying of something new. I blame my cousin. Psychological damage to a 7 year old – I probably have a mental disorder.