How not to obsess

It seems to me that it's a very easy thing, when faced with an unknown diagnosis, to start to overanalyze every little thing in your body. Is my pulse fast? Is it just hot, or do I have a fever? Does that itch mean anything... besides a mosquito bite?

It's way, way unhealthy. I have seen people with medical problems absolutely retreat into their bodies, paying attention to nothing other than their own bowel habits. My grandmother, for instance. As concerned as I am with her health, it gets boring to listen to.

I'm trying very hard not to become boring. It's just so damn hard not to contemplate one's belly button when -- metaphorically speaking -- one's belly button is sprouting a daisy. I mean, look at that! Isn't that weird? You ever seen a belly button *do* that?

I suppose it makes us feel special, in some weird way, to have some diagnosable thing *wrong* with us. Although, if we need something wrong to make us feel special... well, that's some whacked-out, messed-up stuff right there. Messed up.

So, to avoid contemplating my utterly fascinating belly button, I've decided to distract myself as completely as possible. I fixed up my house and put it on the market. I went house-hunting about a gazillion times. We have now sold and bought houses in the past week or so, and are getting ready to move. Not just down the road, either, but to a whole new area code. Major, major transition. I have spent the morning calling utility companies and newspapers and all those people you have to call... and as a result NOT doing internet medical research. That is a good thing. Nothing good can come of googling "nerve tingling" for the 47th time.

So I've got plenty other things to worry about to keep me from worrying about my weirdo nerves. Except that, while on the phone with the cable company, I had to ask the lady to hold while I tried unsuccessfully to shake the "buzzing" out of my left hand. So.

Obsessed, no. But fully distracted from my "problems"? Um... not quite.