Just because you're a hypochondriac doesn't mean you might not really be sick - some day

   I went to the doctor today as a follow-up to my first physical in several years.
   When I woke up this morning, knowing I was going to hear the results of all the tests that had been done on me, I couldn't help but think about how routine and ordinary the day was starting out, and started thinking about all the people whose days started just as routine and ordinary, only to go to the doctor and be told something horrible.
   You go to bed believing you are completely healthy, that nothing is wrong. You wake up feeling good, get your breakfast, check the weather, maybe read some news reports. You get dressed, think about what you have to do at work, what projects remain to be worked on. Maybe you kiss your wife and say 'good morning' to your kids and wonder about how you're going to pay a bill.
   Then you go to the doctor, and suddenly everything changes.
   Now, just to be clear, nothing changed for me. For being someone who takes such lousy precautions about my health - who eats bad and doesn't get enough exercise and all that - I'm ridiculously healthy, which I can only say is due to genetics. It certainly isn't due to anything I've done.
   But, you may recognize, I'm also a bit of a hypochondriac. Not that I'm always thinking I'm sick, but I'm one of those people that reads or hears about someone with a strange medical condition and I start to think I have symptoms. When I actually feel sick, I don't worry about it; it's when I feel healthy that I'm convinced I have a brain tumor or I'm slowly bleeding to death internally or my kidney has stopped working or my appendix is rupturing.
   Now, I come by this honestly. My aunt - my mom's twin sister - displayed similar traits. She was constantly coming by to see my mother when my mother was sick, and looking at my mom's pills, and then deciding that she should take a few of those pills herself  'just in case.' This got to be particularly disconcerting when my mother was going through one of her bouts with cancer. You can imagine the strength of some of the drugs she was taking, that my aunt was helping herself to 'just in case.'
   By the way, my aunt outlived my mom by 10 to 15 years, so maybe she was on to something.
   I'm always ready, when I go into the doctors' office, for the 'uh-oh' moment. You know, the one where the doctor peers at or probes some part of my body and says, "uh-oh." When I go back for the results of all the blood work and tests, I fully expect him to clear his throat, and suggest I call my wife to join us, so we can go over "options."
   Is there any more terrifying word in all of medicine than "options?"
   Well, actually, I wouldn't know. I've never been told I have any "options" - other than to lose weight or exercise more or eat better. Usually, the kind of things that wind up being wrong with me - detached retina, torn bicep - leave me with no option except to fix the problem or not.
    I once had the reoccurring headaches that my regular doctor couldn't figure out. I had all kinds of tests done, with nothing showing up. Then I went to, I think it was, a neurologist, who heard my symptoms, opened a text book, and showed me the textbook description of what I was saying and the diagnosis. He wrote me a prescription for a pill he said was hardly ever prescribed anymore and so was very cheap, and it worked.
    And, I'll admit, there are a few minutes when I'm disappointed after getting a clean bill of health. Not that I want something terrible to be wrong with me, but I keep hoping there is something to explain the little ills I have - the same little ills anyone my age would have - and that there is a pill I can take to fix it: to lose that 10 pounds I need to lose, or bring back recall for names that I forget, or help me realize my life-long dream of playing in the NBA.
   Now, all of this is not to belittle those people whose lives are turned upside down by what starts out as a routine visit to the doctor and ends up being anything but routine.
    It just struck me how life can be changed so quickly, so simply; how one minute you wake up worrying about breakfast and work and paying bills, but go to bed wondering how your family will be taken care of if those 'options' the doctor offered you don't work.
    This is not profound, I know.
    If I wanted to be profound, I'd say something like, "none of us knows when life will come to an abrupt end. If you think about it, every moment we're advancing either to heaven or hell."
    That's kind of depressing, even for a hypochondriac.
    So let's go with this: "You can't change yesterday, but you can ruin today worrying about tomorrow."
    On the other hand, it does help pass the time.