IreneRumi
06-06-19, 00:32
As I posted about in "Success Stories", there is a book that has helped me significantly with my health anxiety. I wanted to post a brief excerpt here that is one of the relevant sections. It comes from "Duct Tape and Bag Balm" by Beach Conger MD, the humorous tales of a country doctor. The book was originally published in the 1980s and I really recommend finding a copy, at the library or perhaps used. This excerpt consists of a fictionalized interaction between Dr. Conger and Fusswood, a health anxious patient.
~
Fusswood didn't wait for me to ask how he was.
"I was watching the news last night, and I got a sharp pain. Right over my heart." He pointed to an area below his left nipple where no self-respecting heart would be caught dead. "And last week my brother in Newark had a heart attack. He's only thirty-seven. Two years younger than me. I'm scared."
"A natural feeling, Fusswood. But there is no need to worry. Your pain does not sound cardiac in origin. And I suspect your brother's trouble comes from the stress of city living. You're safe out in the country."
"He don't live in the city, doc. He lives in Newark, Vermont. Up in the Northeast Kingdom. The biggest city he's ever been to is St. Johnsbury."
"I see. In that case we may have to start you on a risk-modification program."
"What's that?"
"Risk modification involves changing your lifestyle to give you new, healthy habits in place of your old, unhealthy ones. Like smoking. Smoking is very bad for your heart."
"That's what Doc Franklin said. But I can't stop now. It's too late."
"It's never too late to improve your health."
"It is when you quit last New Year's."
"That was not a wise decision, Fusswood. Premature termination of unhealthy habits is generally not a good idea. it leaves a person with nothing to do when his health is really on the line. Fortunately, there are plenty of eggs in the risk modification basket. I suggest we start with reducing your cholesterol level. It's quite popular these days."
"Listen, doc, I haven't seen the inside of an egg in two weeks. All I put on my toast now is carrot scrappings. I ran five miles yesterday. I threw away my salt shaker. I enrolled in a yoga course."
Fusswood was on a disease-prevention orgy. I was going to have to try a different approach to settle him down.
"That's an impressive set of accomplishments. You must be doing wonders for your coronaries. With habits like those, your risk of getting a heart attack in the next year is practically nil. In fact, I would say you are just about invincible."
"That's what they said about the Titanic. Pretty good isn't good enough. I gotta know for sure. I need a stress test."
I should have seen it coming. Every middle aged man who gets a twitch between his nose and his navel wants to prove his immortality with a stress test.
"Take off your shirt and get on the table." I placed my stethoscope on his chest and listened for a few seconds. I frowned.
"How good is your life insurance policy?"
Fusswood paled. "What do you mean? Don't beat around the bush, Doc. Give it to me straight."
"You are myocardius ossificans. Stone heart. I expect you will die within the week."
He gasped, looked hard for a few seconds, and then grinned. "You're putting me on."
"Congratulations, Fusswood, you passed your stress test."
"I don't mean that kind of test," he protested. "I mean the one where you hook me up to wires and watch my heart on TV while I run."
"An exercise electrocardiogram. I'll order one, if you insist. But it could be a dangerous proposition."
"I've heard it's no problem in the proper hands. But, if you can't do it..." He shrugged and started to put on his shirt.
"The test itself is quite safe. It is the results I am concerned about."
"What do you mean?"
"You feel pretty good right now, don't you?"
"Sure. But I don't want anything to happen to my ticker. Replacement parts are hard to get."
"Suppose you fail the test?"
"How could I? You just said yourself that I look great. I feel great. I can beat any machine." Tentatively he suggested, "You're joking again."
"I'm afraid not. I've had patients in better shape than you fail their exercise test."
Fusswood gulped. "Well, I guess I'd... Why, I'd do whatever you told me to. That's what I came here for."
"What if I told you to stop running?"
"Why would you tell me to do that?"
"Think about it. You come in for a checkup. I tell you your heart is a little weak, but its no big deal, and you can keep on running. Then one day you drop dead while running down the street. How does that make me look?"
"Could that really happen?"
"Sure could. People with heart disease are about four times more likely to die during exercise than at rest."
"I guess I'll have to take up knitting." Fusswood managed a weak smile.
"It's not that easy. People in lousy shape are much more likely to get heart attacks than those who are fit."
"So you're telling me if I got a bad heart, it's dangerous to exercise and it's dangerous not to exercise?"
"Exactly."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I don't make the facts, Fusswood. I just report them."
[...]
"So you're telling me I should just turn around and walk out of here, pretend that I am in perfect health, and do whatever I please, even though I could drop dead at any minute?"
"Life's a gamble, Fuss."
~
Fusswood didn't wait for me to ask how he was.
"I was watching the news last night, and I got a sharp pain. Right over my heart." He pointed to an area below his left nipple where no self-respecting heart would be caught dead. "And last week my brother in Newark had a heart attack. He's only thirty-seven. Two years younger than me. I'm scared."
"A natural feeling, Fusswood. But there is no need to worry. Your pain does not sound cardiac in origin. And I suspect your brother's trouble comes from the stress of city living. You're safe out in the country."
"He don't live in the city, doc. He lives in Newark, Vermont. Up in the Northeast Kingdom. The biggest city he's ever been to is St. Johnsbury."
"I see. In that case we may have to start you on a risk-modification program."
"What's that?"
"Risk modification involves changing your lifestyle to give you new, healthy habits in place of your old, unhealthy ones. Like smoking. Smoking is very bad for your heart."
"That's what Doc Franklin said. But I can't stop now. It's too late."
"It's never too late to improve your health."
"It is when you quit last New Year's."
"That was not a wise decision, Fusswood. Premature termination of unhealthy habits is generally not a good idea. it leaves a person with nothing to do when his health is really on the line. Fortunately, there are plenty of eggs in the risk modification basket. I suggest we start with reducing your cholesterol level. It's quite popular these days."
"Listen, doc, I haven't seen the inside of an egg in two weeks. All I put on my toast now is carrot scrappings. I ran five miles yesterday. I threw away my salt shaker. I enrolled in a yoga course."
Fusswood was on a disease-prevention orgy. I was going to have to try a different approach to settle him down.
"That's an impressive set of accomplishments. You must be doing wonders for your coronaries. With habits like those, your risk of getting a heart attack in the next year is practically nil. In fact, I would say you are just about invincible."
"That's what they said about the Titanic. Pretty good isn't good enough. I gotta know for sure. I need a stress test."
I should have seen it coming. Every middle aged man who gets a twitch between his nose and his navel wants to prove his immortality with a stress test.
"Take off your shirt and get on the table." I placed my stethoscope on his chest and listened for a few seconds. I frowned.
"How good is your life insurance policy?"
Fusswood paled. "What do you mean? Don't beat around the bush, Doc. Give it to me straight."
"You are myocardius ossificans. Stone heart. I expect you will die within the week."
He gasped, looked hard for a few seconds, and then grinned. "You're putting me on."
"Congratulations, Fusswood, you passed your stress test."
"I don't mean that kind of test," he protested. "I mean the one where you hook me up to wires and watch my heart on TV while I run."
"An exercise electrocardiogram. I'll order one, if you insist. But it could be a dangerous proposition."
"I've heard it's no problem in the proper hands. But, if you can't do it..." He shrugged and started to put on his shirt.
"The test itself is quite safe. It is the results I am concerned about."
"What do you mean?"
"You feel pretty good right now, don't you?"
"Sure. But I don't want anything to happen to my ticker. Replacement parts are hard to get."
"Suppose you fail the test?"
"How could I? You just said yourself that I look great. I feel great. I can beat any machine." Tentatively he suggested, "You're joking again."
"I'm afraid not. I've had patients in better shape than you fail their exercise test."
Fusswood gulped. "Well, I guess I'd... Why, I'd do whatever you told me to. That's what I came here for."
"What if I told you to stop running?"
"Why would you tell me to do that?"
"Think about it. You come in for a checkup. I tell you your heart is a little weak, but its no big deal, and you can keep on running. Then one day you drop dead while running down the street. How does that make me look?"
"Could that really happen?"
"Sure could. People with heart disease are about four times more likely to die during exercise than at rest."
"I guess I'll have to take up knitting." Fusswood managed a weak smile.
"It's not that easy. People in lousy shape are much more likely to get heart attacks than those who are fit."
"So you're telling me if I got a bad heart, it's dangerous to exercise and it's dangerous not to exercise?"
"Exactly."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I don't make the facts, Fusswood. I just report them."
[...]
"So you're telling me I should just turn around and walk out of here, pretend that I am in perfect health, and do whatever I please, even though I could drop dead at any minute?"
"Life's a gamble, Fuss."