The Google Theory

I don't know what's worse: being a "hypochondriac" or knowing that you're a "hypochondriac." It makes those times when you belive you have valid symptoms especially difficult. Because, if you're a hypochondriac, are they really valid?

For the past three months, I've been having twitches. And jerks. And tremors. I've always been nervous, but never a shaker. A sweater, but not a shaker (thanks, Colleen).

This morning, I finally made a doctor's appointment because, for the last three days, I've assumed a prone position on the couch, where I supervise my children, click at the remote, search the internet for disorders that fit my (valid) symptoms, and monitor the popcorn twitch on my thigh and all of his "friends" who have migrated to other regions of my body.

Thanks to internet research, I am now aware of upper neuron, lower neuron, and extrapyramidal disorders. I can tell you the difference between myelinated and unmyelinated muscle fibers, and I can list the neuro-musculoskeletal dangers of artificial sweeteners.

I've learned more during my internet studies than I ever learned during "Neuroanatomy" in graduate school.

Anyway, I called to make this appointment this morning, and God love'em, they were able to fit me in right away.

During the exam, I had to describe my various twitches, differentiate between "the twitches" and "the jerks" and "the tremors," and participate in several tests similar to the field sobrietry exercises that I've observed on COPS. Apparently, despite some stumbling on the "heel to toe" walk, I passed everything. I asked the doctor if his "gut feeling" was that everything looked good, and he replied, somewhat hotly, that his "gut feeling" was that he didn't know what his "gut feeling" was.

So there.

The doctor then listed a number of metabolic disorders that could be contributing to my neurolgical symptoms, all of which I was aware of, thanks to my recent participation in "internet med school."

Next step was visit to "the lab" for blood work, where, I boldly suggested that the phlebotomoist use "the butterfly" needle as opposed to the regular one. I informed her that I have "small veins" with the same pride that I might tell someone I'm a size 2 (which I'm not) or that I have 3 PhDs (which I don't). We enjoyed a brief dialogue about the "scar tissue" on my arms and how difficult it was for her to get to the vein (raised eyebrows, or my imagination?).

Long story short? Results will be back by Friday.

My thoughts about the whole situation are complex. I worry that these symptoms are the sign of somethng serious. I feel like I'm stalled, waiting for the results. Stalled creatively, stalled physically, stalled emotionally. I'd like to be a "bury your head in the sand, life goes on" type of girl, but instead, I'm an "immerse yourself in the whole drama and speculate, project, and hypothesize" kind of person.

Believe me, I want to be the ostrich.

And most importantly, I wonder if my lastest theory, The Google Theory, is accurate. I wonder if, when the doctor excuses himself after we've discussed my symptoms, after I've participated in various sensory and motor exercises, he goes into his office and types the symptoms I've listed into "google." I wonder if, the "possible diagnoses" that he suggests when he returns to the room are simply the top five most popular hits.

If they don't use technology like this, I think they should.

P.S. Three (THREE!!!!!) flippin' rejections today. Three, three, three. Fortunately (and I use this term loosely, I'm too immersed in health scare to let them bother me too much, but still . . . THREE?!!)