Anxiety and Big Life Stuff
Anxiety about health is a common phenomenon. It’s only natural to worry about the human body breaking down, especially as one ages. But how much anxiety is too much? How little is too little?
When anything goes awry with my body, I get panicky. I catastrophize, imagining the worst. I have anxiety disorder in addition to bipolar, so that’s not surprising.
Once, for example, I woke up in the middle of the night with something strange happening to my arm. There was a hard spot along the side of it the size and shape of a cuttlefish bone. Instantly, I got dressed and headed to the emergency room. They took x-rays (which were ambiguous) and sent me home. If I hadn’t been so panicky, I would have realized that the problem could easily have waited until the next morning or whenever I could get in to see my doctor. But I was frightened and anxious because it was something I had never heard of and couldn’t explain.
It turned out to be sarcoid, which was treated with steroids. (There was also a spot of it on my head, which my doctor biopsied, so I now have a divot on my forehead.) The sarcoid backed off, leaving me embarrassed at having reacted so strongly.
My husband, who doesn’t have anxiety, is just the opposite. He takes injuries and illnesses much more lightly. He’s a bit accident-prone, often cutting himself or otherwise mangling his fingers and hands cooking or doing repair work. I used to have to burst into tears to get him to go for treatment, stitches, or whatever was called for. He would wrap the injury in a paper towel and some duct tape, which I understand is a guy thing. (A heart attack that he almost waited too long to get help for changed his ways. Now I don’t have to cry. He goes to the ER as needed.)
Now, however, we’re facing more serious medical possibilities. I won’t go into Dan’s, since he’d prefer to keep that story private, but it’s Big Life Stuff.
I have plenty of anxiety to talk about. Over the past few years, my knees have been getting worse and worse. At first, it only affected my balance, which was enough to make me anxious right there, fearing that I would fall in public. I started using a cane. I did fall once, at a student union where my therapist’s office was located. A flock of young women (nursing students?) swooped in, picked me up, and offered me a hot beverage. Ever since, my anxiety about falling has increased, exacerbated by a couple of falls at home.
Now, however, I’m facing more serious anxiety. My knees have deteriorated to the point that I need steroid shots every six weeks and am afraid to walk. (The doctor’s words were “bone on bone.”) The steroids work for now but won’t last. Eventually, I’ll have to get both my knees replaced. And that ramps up my anxiety to new levels.
Today, I stumbled on the stairs and my left knee almost gave out. My right knee took up the slack, but I envisioned myself lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Since then, my left knee has been twinging, and I’m doubting its ability to hold up until the next round of steroids.
The orthopedist says I could need the knee replacements anytime from six weeks to six years from now. So, of course, I’m anxious that it will be sooner rather than later. I’m catastrophizing, envisioning weeks lying immobile on the couch, taking pain pills, and unable to care for myself. I understand that the doctor said it might not happen for years, but I’m reacting as if it will be next month.
To me, this is Big Life Stuff, and not just because it’s a major operation (two actually, one for each knee). I fear losing control of my body. I worry that knee replacement won’t help. I anticipate going downhill rather than improving. It’s not that I don’t trust my doctors. I’m just consumed by anxiety. I’m looking at ads for mobility scooters and fold-out chair-beds for my study. I can’t envision a future in which things will be any better.
I’m being crippled with anxiety about being crippled. And no amount of reassurance, education, or time is lessening it.
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