It’s Jamie’s world…we just live in it

 
 

In his first column, Jamie Martin talkes hypochondria

Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I am a hypochondriac.

In fact, I am the worst kind of hypochondriac going. I am the kind of hypochondriac who doesn’t help himself at all. For instance, last week on a night out, myself and my friend Dermot decided that it would be a good idea to have a head butt competition in the back of a car. This resulted in a very long week of headaches followed by a visit to the hospital. After inquiring why I felt the need to play a game in which there can be no real winners, the doctor explained to me that I had two options. Option one, I could wait and see if my symptoms got any better. He said that I might have a concussion due to the repeated head butts. My mother was present and was by no means pleased when I answered the doctor’s question of “how many head butts in total did you give and receive?”  My answer of “about twenty” caused my mother to ask the doctor some questions of her own. Questions like, “At what age do men begin to have a little bit of sense?” or “have you ever heard anything as stupid in all your life?”.

Option two was to get a brain scan in order to determine whether I have received any brain injury or not. The catch to option two was, the scan raises cancer risk to 1 in 1000. To me, this is a very high number. Now bear in mind, when I get a cough it is swine flu. When I find a strange mark on my skin it is skin cancer. I have been to the doctor several times for strange illnesses that don’t even exist outside of my head. I was so worried that I had testicular cancer once that I allowed another man to examine my balls. The doctor in question was not pleased when I explained to him that, “I just tend to worry about things that aren’t there sometimes”. I think he was unhappy at having to start his morning with another mans sack in his hands just because I tend to worry. So I knew myself, the last thing I need is to worry about a 1 in 1000 chance of cancer for the rest of my life.

I opted for option one, I took the week off and escaped to my Aunty’s house in Donegal where I rested my tired skull and took in the fresh air.

A week later, and I am feeling better, although I think I may have caught something on the way

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