
Somebody out there wants me dead
Published Thursday July 2nd, 2009

Hello doc! I'm just checking in to see what condition my condition is in.

I woke up this morning, as I do most mornings, and spent no less than an hour preparing my fragile, aging shell of a body to defend itself against the ravages of a brutal, vigorous world full of homicidal chemicals, diseases and infections. I popped two Vitamin D tablets, one time-release Vitamin C capsule, and a Vitamin B complex. And just to be absolutely certain, I swallowed a teaspoon of organic fish oil, three ounces of pro-biotic, no-fat yogurt, a bowl of bran flakes, and an orange.
Then, I had a smoke.
What the hell. . .Nobody's perfect, right?
Is it my imagination, or has the number of ways the universe wants to kill me geometrically increased over the past few years? When I was a kid, looking both ways before I crossed a street pretty much guaranteed my survival until suppertime. Now, I'm supposed to worry about H1N1, diabetes, incipient Alzheimer's, Huntington's-chorea, about 7,000 different forms of cancer, and salt "" any one of which can creep up on me and fell me like an oak tree with restless legs syndrome.
Yes, restless legs syndrome. Here's what one web site has to say about that: "Restless legs syndrome (RLS, Wittmaack-Ekbom's syndrome) is a condition that is characterized by an irresistible urge to move one's body to stop uncomfortable or odd sensations. It most commonly affects the legs, but can also affect the arms or torso. Moving the affected body part modulates the sensations, providing temporary relief. RLS causes a sensation in the legs or arms that can most closely be compared to a burning, itching, or tickling sensation in the muscles. The most commonly associated medical condition is iron deficiency, which accounts for just over 20 per cent of all cases. Other conditions associated with RLS include venous reflux, folate deficiency, sleep apnea, uremia, thyroid disease, and Parkinson's disease."
Parkinson's disease? I'm so glad I asked. Here, I thought that slight tremor in my left hand was somehow related to the double martinis I am fond of swigging as I surf the net for the latest news on, and treatments for, clinical depression, panic disorder, social anxiety disorder, obssessive-compulsive disorder, and "I-can't-leave-the-house-because-I'm-too-freaked-out-to-move" disorder.
According to one Joyce Millman, writing in the online Obit Magazine, "Hypochondria, which now goes by the shiny new name 'health anxiety,' is relentless and stupid and it chews up valuable days and years of your life, time that you could have spent being productive or, you know, happy. But instead, you spent it Googling 'lower left abdominal pain.' Ah, yes "" Google. The Internet has given rise to a glorious new Golden Age of hypochondria. Back in the day, a hypochondriac had to haunt libraries and bookstores to get her fix of alarming potential diagnoses, but now, thanks to the Internet, we can obsess over our health to the point of inducing panic attacks in the privacy of our own homes. And who wouldn't hyperventilate with terror at some of the ghastly results turned up by search engine queries of everyday ills?"
You said it sister! Feeling out of breath? Must be pulmonary disease. (Forget the fact that you just hiked up four flights of stairs). Feeling a little warm? Must be a brain tumor. (Certainly, the extra hot curry you happen to be eating has nothing to do with your uncontrollable flop sweat). To paraphrase Canadian songwriter Randy Bachman, we have become a society that loves to check in to see what condition our condition is in.
But I do have a prescription for what ails us. Turn off the TV, unplug the Internet, stop reading the health sections of newspapers, and go for a long walk. Or, better yet, jump on a bike and ride as far as you can, until you can smell the sun, feel the wind, and the only thing on your mind is whether you looked both ways before you crossed that intersection a few blocks back.
And, oh yeah, lose the smoke. . .That really will kill you.
Alec Bruce is a Moncton-based writer. He may be reached via www.thebrucereport.com.


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