When I was a kid, I stumbled across a medical encyclopedia on my parent’s bookshelf. It was full of possible medical symptoms and their respective causes and treatments. For me, it was a cornucopia of “Choose your own adventure” questionnaires illustrated with fantastic flowcharts, but unfortunately, no matter how I answered the questions, the dire call to action almost always resulted in: “GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM IMMEDIATELY. YOU MAY HAVE A BRAIN TUMOR.”
An Example of Said Flowchart, Based on my Impeccable Childhood Memory:
I became obsessed with studying every last page of this book. Especially the “What to do in an emergency” section. If a poorly drawn sketch of a woman had decided to give birth in a hallway — just like in the book — I would’ve known exactly what to do. Unfortunately, I spent most of my time reading through those symptom flowcharts, where every random ache and pain aggressively morphed into some life-threatening disease and I became more and more convinced that I was going to die. (It was about this time that my mother suggested that I stop reading.)
Fast-forward 20 years.
A few weeks ago I was in the shower when I reached for a bottle of shampoo. My right arm gave a painful jolt that I took to mean: Yeah. Don’t do that. I figured my lifelong habit of sleeping with my arm folded under my pillow meant I had pinched a nerve. Or that my early-morning weightlifting had finally coaxed out the presence of an actual muscle.
An hour or so later at work, I made the stupid, silly, regrettable mistake of moving my arm slightly. The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt. It felt like a pinched nerve — if the nerve was stuck in a vise grip, twisted violently into a knot, and then sawed at with a dull knife that had recently come from a boiling vat of acid.
Holy CHRIST, I thought, instantly feeling nauseous. Breathing shallowly, I put my head down on my desk and thanked God for the mostly hidden location of my cubicle. I kept fidgeting and trying to rest my head without disturbing my arm again, but I just couldn’t get comfortable. I was hot and clammy and while the pain had mostly disappeared, the sensation that it could reappear was very strong.
I weakly used my left hand to tap a search into Google. Instead of typing my actual symptoms of “stabbing pain right bicep,” I unwisely let my mind go back to my childhood days of medical yore and searched for “symptoms of heart attack.” I had 2 out of the 3 symptoms listed for women. Oops. I frantically performed a search on pain in the bicep and discovered it was probably something harmless like tendinitis. (Let it be known that I will do ANYTHING to avoid going to the doctor. Completely unrelated, if you get bit by a dog and don’t go to the doctor, it takes approximately seven months for your nail to completely grow back.)
After about five minutes I ventured into the bathroom. My face was completely white, including my lips. I looked like I was an extra on The Walking Dead. I splashed some water on my face, and then went back to work like nothing had even happened.
And then I made sure not to tuck my arm under my pillow anymore. Seems to be working.
