Day 196-352 (Part 3): Google Thinks I am Dying. Everyone Else Thinks I am Overthinking. I am Not Sure Who To Believe.

1 day ago
4 min read

So…

By this point I’d accepted that my body had become… quirky.

You know how every family has that one slightly eccentric relative?

The one who microwaves fish in the office, owns fourteen ornamental owls and still pays for everything by cheque?

Well…

Apparently my nervous system had become that relative.

Completely unpredictable.

Slightly embarrassing.

And absolutely refusing to behave itself.

The thing that really started confusing me was the fact there didn’t seem to be any pattern.

Some mornings I’d wake up thinking…

“Today’s not too bad.”

I’d have a shower, get dressed, answer a few emails and think…

“Maybe I’ve finally turned a corner.”

Then I’d do something incredibly adventurous.

Like…

Walk upstairs.

And suddenly I’d be standing at the top wondering why I was breathing like I’d just climbed Mount Everest carrying my boyfriend on my back.

It made absolutely no sense.

I hadn’t suddenly become unfit overnight.

In fact, if anything, I should’ve been fitter than I’d been in years.

Surely carrying less weight around should’ve made walking upstairs easier.

Not harder.

Instead, I felt like someone had secretly swapped my lungs for two Aldi carrier bags.

The ridiculous thing was, I kept trying to exercise.

Not because I particularly wanted to.

Because I thought maybe I just needed to “push through.”

Isn’t that what we’re all told?

“Keep active.”

“Build yourself back up.”

“Just do a little bit every day.”

Brilliant advice…

Unless your body has other ideas.

I’d set off for a little walk feeling ridiculously optimistic.

“Half an hour,” I’d tell myself.

“Nothing strenuous.”

Fifteen minutes later I’d be looking for the nearest bench like I was eighty-five years old.

Honestly, park benches became my best mates.

If there’d been a loyalty card, I’d have earned a free one by now.

I’d sit there pretending I was simply enjoying nature.

Watching the birds.

Appreciating the fresh air.

Absolutely not.

I was trying not to pass out.

Then there was the brain fog.

OH MY GOD.

THE BRAIN FOG.

I thought I knew what brain fog was.

Turns out I didn’t.

I’d walk into a room and completely forget why I’d gone in there.

Not occasionally.

Constantly.

I’d open the fridge.

Stare.

Close it.

Walk away.

Walk back.

Open it again.

Still no idea.

I once spent a good ten minutes looking for my glasses.

They were on my face.

Another day I couldn’t find my phone.

I was talking to my mum on it.

She didn’t even point it out.

She just quietly waited for me to realise.

Thanks, Mum.

Appreciate the support.

Work meetings became interesting too.

I’d be halfway through explaining something…

Then suddenly my brain would just…

Buffer.

Like someone had pressed pause.

The words were definitely in there somewhere.

They just weren’t prepared to come out.

I’d sit there smiling while internally screaming…

“Come on brain… you’ve known this for years!”

Eventually the word would arrive…

Usually about twenty minutes after the meeting had finished.

Very helpful.

The other thing I’d become completely obsessed with…

Was my smart watch.

Honestly…

Whoever invented smart watches has got a lot to answer for.

Before all this, I used it for counting steps and ignoring texts.

Now?

It had become my personal cardiologist.

I’d check my heart rate before getting out of bed.

Then after getting out of bed.

Then after brushing my teeth.

Then after making tea.

Then after walking upstairs.

Then after feeding the cats.

By lunchtime I’d looked at it more than Instagram.

Every tiny change sent me spiralling.

“Ninety-five?”

Interesting.

“One hundred and ten?”

Hmm…

“One hundred and twenty-eight?”

WHY?!

I’d stand there doing absolutely nothing and watch my heart rate climbing like it was trying to qualify for the Olympics.

Meanwhile my boyfriend would wander past completely unfazed.

“What are you looking at?”

“My heart.”

“Oh.”

That was it.

“Oh.”

Honestly, I think by this stage he’d become immune to my daily medical updates.

Poor bloke.

Every evening sounded exactly the same.

“Babe…”

“Mmm?”

“My heart did another weird thing.”

“What sort of weird thing?”

“The sort where it feels weird.”

Incredibly helpful description.

Ten out of ten.

No notes.

If he’d charged me a consultation fee every time I asked him to analyse a symptom, we’d probably have paid the mortgage off by now.

Then came my new favourite hobby…

Googling.

Now, I know.

I KNOW.

You’re all shouting at your phones.

“STOP GOOGLING!”

Trust me…

I said exactly the same thing to myself.

Right before Googling something else.

It’s like an addiction.

You know it’s going to end badly.

You know Google’s about to diagnose you with seventeen rare diseases and one condition only previously documented in Peruvian llamas.