Cptdebbie
22-01-18, 01:30
First, I want to warn anyone that might be triggered by hearing about a cancer diagnosis. You probably don't want to read this.
I am a 57 year old female who has struggled with anxiety and depression my entire adult life. About two years ago, I had a string of health scares (one right after the other) and my anxiety became nearly 100% about my health. I finally found a therapist that specialized in OCD and anxiety disorders. I've been seeing her since mid-summer. I had just reached the point where I felt almost normal again, when my husband, who never gets sick, became ill. The stress of the diagnostic odyssey we were on for the next few weeks, and the ultimate discovery that my husband of 38 years has stage 4 lung cancer, has sent my health anxiety spiraling.
Stress always triggers my Health Anxiety, so I am not surprised about how I am feeling. The fact that I have been too busy with doctor appointments and paperwork to do the things that help me deal with stress, is also a contributing factor.
The reason I am writing is that I am hoping you can help me process all this. (I will go to counseling again soon, but I need to get a few more things in order before I can take the time -- my husband is [was] still working so we had to apply for disability pay, etc., etc. The red tape has been phenomenal, and food trumps emotional well being.)
My husband has never worried about his health. Hypochondriac me would ask him about things like his bathroom habits, etc., and he'd say, "I never look," or "I don't pay attention." And, he didn't. Maybe he didn't need to? He has always been incredibly healthy. He hardly ever got sick. If he did, it would last a day at the most. He is 60 years old and until recently has never taken medication on a regular basis. There were no clues about his lung cancer until one day he got so weak he could hardly stand up. Even then, the clues were almost non-existent. It took several doctors several weeks to finally figure out what was happening. (In case you are wondering, he has never smoked a cigarette in his life.) Now, here we are, looking at saying goodbye in 3-6 months, or perhaps a little longer, if a medication called Tarceva does what it is supposed to do.
As I sit here and freak out over every symptom that my hyper-vigilant mind notices, and try to breathe in and out slowly, I can't help but see the irony in the whole situation. Me=anxious and often debilitated over my health worries. My hubby=dying of cancer and at peace.
Here's my question to all of you: Do you ever think about the quality of our lives? Would you rather die because you didn't catch a disease early or from ignoring symptoms, yet spend the time you do have free of anxiety? Or, would you rather continue to stay Uber-vigilant and spend the rest of your life suffering from anxiety? Your life might be longer, but probably not happier. There probably is a middle of the road between the two, but, if you are like me, the problem is with finding it. When do I go to the doctor? When is a symptom legit?
Maybe it's a result of all the grief, trauma, and exhaustion I've been experiencing, but I'm leaning toward the other side of the pendulum. For example: maybe it's okay to decide that I'm going to stop checking the toilet bowl and risk missing blood in my urine. Or, maybe I'm going to decide to stop checking my breasts. I'll let the doctor do it once a year. If I die sooner, at least the time I am alive will be happier rather than filled with doctor visits and debilitating worry.
That's about it for my philosophical ramblings. What do you think?
I am a 57 year old female who has struggled with anxiety and depression my entire adult life. About two years ago, I had a string of health scares (one right after the other) and my anxiety became nearly 100% about my health. I finally found a therapist that specialized in OCD and anxiety disorders. I've been seeing her since mid-summer. I had just reached the point where I felt almost normal again, when my husband, who never gets sick, became ill. The stress of the diagnostic odyssey we were on for the next few weeks, and the ultimate discovery that my husband of 38 years has stage 4 lung cancer, has sent my health anxiety spiraling.
Stress always triggers my Health Anxiety, so I am not surprised about how I am feeling. The fact that I have been too busy with doctor appointments and paperwork to do the things that help me deal with stress, is also a contributing factor.
The reason I am writing is that I am hoping you can help me process all this. (I will go to counseling again soon, but I need to get a few more things in order before I can take the time -- my husband is [was] still working so we had to apply for disability pay, etc., etc. The red tape has been phenomenal, and food trumps emotional well being.)
My husband has never worried about his health. Hypochondriac me would ask him about things like his bathroom habits, etc., and he'd say, "I never look," or "I don't pay attention." And, he didn't. Maybe he didn't need to? He has always been incredibly healthy. He hardly ever got sick. If he did, it would last a day at the most. He is 60 years old and until recently has never taken medication on a regular basis. There were no clues about his lung cancer until one day he got so weak he could hardly stand up. Even then, the clues were almost non-existent. It took several doctors several weeks to finally figure out what was happening. (In case you are wondering, he has never smoked a cigarette in his life.) Now, here we are, looking at saying goodbye in 3-6 months, or perhaps a little longer, if a medication called Tarceva does what it is supposed to do.
As I sit here and freak out over every symptom that my hyper-vigilant mind notices, and try to breathe in and out slowly, I can't help but see the irony in the whole situation. Me=anxious and often debilitated over my health worries. My hubby=dying of cancer and at peace.
Here's my question to all of you: Do you ever think about the quality of our lives? Would you rather die because you didn't catch a disease early or from ignoring symptoms, yet spend the time you do have free of anxiety? Or, would you rather continue to stay Uber-vigilant and spend the rest of your life suffering from anxiety? Your life might be longer, but probably not happier. There probably is a middle of the road between the two, but, if you are like me, the problem is with finding it. When do I go to the doctor? When is a symptom legit?
Maybe it's a result of all the grief, trauma, and exhaustion I've been experiencing, but I'm leaning toward the other side of the pendulum. For example: maybe it's okay to decide that I'm going to stop checking the toilet bowl and risk missing blood in my urine. Or, maybe I'm going to decide to stop checking my breasts. I'll let the doctor do it once a year. If I die sooner, at least the time I am alive will be happier rather than filled with doctor visits and debilitating worry.
That's about it for my philosophical ramblings. What do you think?