8am and sun pours in through my window. I reach over to my nightstand, eyes still half closed, and fumble around until I feel the familiar smooth, cylindrical texture. I shove the thermometer in my mouth, ensuring it’s perfectly centered under my tongue, so far back that that weird flap of skin under my tongue begins to ache. I wait.
Evidence of the previous night awaits me on my phone, which lays innocently face-down on the nightstand. A text to 988 that reads, “Hi I need anxiety support”. Another that simply says, “Helpline”. Both unanswered. A call log of 800 numbers dialed past midnight.
“BEEP BEEP BEEP… BEEP BEEP BEEP…”
I squint to read the small gray numbers on the digital screen. '
98.6.
Yep, I was just anxious. I roll over and fall back asleep.
——————
The previous evening began like any other. I returned from a hike with my dog, feeling unusually tired. Unusually tired. Cue the anxious thoughts.
Maybe it’s PMS… I should be getting my period next week
Maybe it’s cause I was out in the sun all day… sun makes me tired, right? Yes, remember that time in Mexico I was so tired after a day in the sun? Right. It definitely could be the sun.
But the confirmed plausibility of the sun exhaustion theory does not stop the anxious thoughts. Luckily, I am no stranger to my sickness anxiety. Over nearly two years, I’ve become familiar with its antics — the nauseous belly, the chattering teeth— and I have plenty of data points from past experiences proving that at the end of the day, it always was just anxiety.
Trying to ignore the fear only makes it stronger, so I lay down on the couch, find a grief meditation on YouTube, and close my eyes. I deepen my breath and tears stream down my face, stinging my cheeks. I am ok, I reassure myself. Let it out. But despite my intention to surrender, in the back of my mind, I plead that this emotional release will keep the anxiety at bay. And for a while, it seems to work. The meditation lulls me into a light sleep, a temporary respite from the terror of living in a human body.
When I awake, I feel hot. I shoot off the couch and frantically search for my thermometer. I find it with my stash of anti-nausea and anxiety pills - a safety net - and shove it under my tongue. 20 unnerving seconds later, the thermometer delivers the verdict. 99.8. My fears are confirmed: I am sick.
What follows can only be described as a power struggle between my rational mind and my nervous system:
Rational mind: This is a low grade fever. You’ve had this before and it’s nothing serious. At the worst, you will be mildly uncomfortable as you fight off a bug.
Nervous System: Oh my god, this is out of control. I feel myself slipping. I am losing control of my body. This cannot be happening. I can’t handle this.
Rational mind: Your body is made for this. You are young and healthy. The fever is your immune system fighting the bug. Your body is taking care of you.
Nervous System: Am I nauseous? Oh my god, I am going to throw up. This is absolutely terrifying. I need to escape this feeling. I will do anything to escape this feeling.
Rational mind: Remember you’ve never thrown up from something like this before. Your anxiety is what’s making you nauseous. You’ve gotten colds so many times before, and you’re always fine. You might not even be sick, because it could be anxiety causing all of this…
Nervous System: [goes into panic - teeth chattering, body shaking, swells of tingling sensations, nausea. Wonders if I should take myself to the ER. Settles on a hefty dose of Ativan.]
This back and forth continues for hours. I can’t sleep, I’m terrified of what will happen when I wake up. (What if I wake up in the middle of the night and throw up?). I shake, I cry, I bargain, I beg.
What ended up getting me through this latest bout of sickness anxiety was: 3 guided meditations, 1mg Ativan, 4mg Zofran, a 10min conversation with Dylan from the SAMI emergency hotline, and finally, a nearly 1 hour-long phone call with a close friend, who gently and lovingly listened to me cry and panic on the phone until I felt safe enough to shut my eyes.
This morning my fever was gone. I worked, I danced, I walked my dog. I went about my day as if nothing happened. Yet, my sickness anxiety stays with me, sometimes visiting on a daily basis. Asking myself, “am I sick, or just anxious?” has become an unwelcome, but extremely common ritual of my daily life.
I haven’t found many resources that describe the exact mental illness I struggle with. There is Illness Anxiety Disorder (also referred to as Hypochondria), which is more focused on the fear of serious illness. There’s Panic Disorder, which describes the experience of overwhelming fear, but doesn’t connect it to the fear of getting sick. There’s Emetophobia, the fear of vomiting, which I certainly have but doesn’t capture the whole picture. I’ve yet to come across a condition to describe overwhelming fear and panic triggered by the fear of minor illness. That’s right, I’m terrified of getting a cold. (Rationally, of course, I’m not, but tell that to my nervous system…)
I’ve learned a lot in the nearly two years I’ve suffered from this particular flavor of anxiety, and my goal is to share whatever nuggets of wisdom I’ve gained that may be helpful to others facing similar struggles. But also, I really just want to put it out there. As embarrassing as it is to admit that I’m afraid of catching a common cold, I also believe that the antidote to shame is sharing. So here’s my first attempt at honestly chronicling the ups and downs, the obsessive fears, the compulsive temperature checking, and the question that has become an almost daily refrain, “Am I sick, or just anxious?”
