| Enter the
hypochondriachal drama queen
I suppose it is an inevitable part of getting older. A viral infection, an unfamiliar ache or pain, any
condition that lasts more than 24 hours, brings out the hypochondria in people. Whereas in our youth, we would accept the
symptoms without too much worry, with age there’s the worry of something chronic,
something terminal, resulting rather often into something over dramatic.
 Some people get so carried away that they have a compulsive
need to give a blow-by-blow account of their illnesses or near-illnesses, cures and
near-cures, going into mind-numbing detail of what didn’t happen but might have, and
of what the doctor could have said or didn’t say.
This does not mean I am unsympathetic. On
the contrary, I make genuine efforts to empathise and sympathise, to imagine just what
this or that condition must be like to live with when I’m told of it. However, when the Drama Queen Syndrome kicks in, I
turn off. Here are some examples:
‘My
consultant/doctor/physician is the best/most experienced/most knowledgeable in the
country/the entire world’.
This is always said before the op or treatment, only sometimes after, and I
can only think it works as a kind of auto-hypnotherapeutic exercise in reassurance. Convince yourself that you’re in the hands of
the very best, and you can trust him or her with your life.
This is almost always a mistake, since every medic needs to be reminded about your
particular situation and so should be questioned accordingly.
‘They said I might have needed
intensive care/drugs with potentially dangerous side effects/a revolutionary treatment,
only in the end they prescribed aspirin.’
Melodrama possibly acts as a sort of comforter when you’re ill, adding a
sense of importance to an otherwise uncomfortable, possibly painful but ultimately mundane
experience.
‘I’ll have to take it easy for several months. No driving, cycling, gardening, sex, walking the
dog, parties, alcohol or rich food.’
 Of course, convalescence makes sense.
But why go on about the restrictions? It’s
not as if someone is trying to get you to scrub floors or move furniture. This self-dramatising ploy might be due to a fear that
doing anything normal will cause irreparable damage. Or
perhaps it’s a reaction to the impersonal conveyor belt of medical processes and
practices. Either way, it’s useful to
note that some patients get better in spite of themselves.
Fortunately, there’s nothing life threatening in this behaviour, perhaps
with the exception of the first example. Can you add any more on the subject? Get to me on helen@laterlife.com.
Thanks to those who sent in their particular embarrassing moments, following
last issue of Talkback. Here is a selection:
‘Pinging glass of wine on the
table in a restaurant, usually with another glass or the cutlery. When this happens it’s a sign that I have
drunk too much wine. I sometimes spill the
glass over myself or the waiter.’
‘Talking to self in the street
and bumping into a friend.’
‘Telling someone an anecdote
and later realising you’ve told them before but they didn’t say so.’
‘Mispronouncing a word - you
only know when someone else says the same
word later in the conversation.’
‘Wearing the same dress or
hat as another person at a party.’
‘Saying hello to someone and
they turn out to be the wrong person.’
‘Asking a sales attendant for
help and they turn out to be another customer.’
‘Running out of cash at the
supermarket check-out and having to give back some of your shopping.’
As I said last month, embarrassing moments are totally insignificant and
unmemorable, except to those who experience them. And
the solution is simple enough: either to acknowledge and make a joke about the incident,
or ignore and forget it.
helen@laterlife.com
|
Talkback is a regular
feature in laterlife.com run by journalist and author Helen Franks. 
