A friend a while back referred to me as a “ political hypochondriac.” What he was trying to infer was that I worry about political things that as an individual I have no capacity to affect. Though I’m not sure he was using the word hypochondria correctly.
So before I dwell on the political version I’m going to look at the classical version.
Caroline Crampton, when interviewed about her book “A Body Made of Glass”, described a hypochondriac as someone who “doesn’t so much have a fear of death, more a fear of the fear of death .” I hope I got that quote right, I was driving when I heard it, and the highway code, apparently, discourages grabbing a pencil and ignoring the road. So I think I understand what she means but I’m reserving judgement.
She herself identifies as a hypochondriac but one with imposter syndrome as while she worries about her health she did in fact suffer with a very serious life threatening illness. So she kind of has a reason .
The fact of being a hypochondriac is that at the end of the day, at least once, one’s concerns will inevitably be right. If their ending is sudden then they may have to put in their will “ there, I told you so” otherwise they can descend to their final moments communicating frequently that despite the scepticism of others, they really did have reason to be concerned.
But then unless you are excessively optimistic, or possibly a certain genre of politician, there is something of the hypochondriac in all of us in that we all need to recognise the inevitability of our mortality. It is the degree to which we allow that reality, that inevitability, to interfere with our appreciation of the life that we are living that limits us.
Perhaps it is the same with politics, though I’d posit an alternative reality, if you are not worried about politics it has the capacity to limit your life.
Some described the poet Philip Larkin as a Hypochondriac and you can see some of that in his writing . This from Ambulance:
….A wild white face that overtops
Red stretcher-blankets momently
As it is carried in and stowed,
And sense the solving emptiness
That lies just under all we do,
And for a second get it whole,
So permanent and blank and true.
The fastened doors recede. Poor soul
They whisper at their own distress; ……..
There is a darkness and a self awareness there “ so permanent and blank and true ….” He isn’t, I suggest talking about the Ambulance.
I don’t think I would describe myself as a hypochondriac. Having said that, I try to avoid medical practitioners as much as possible based upon my early years. Worryingly, the nurse practitioner I had to see recently when I hurt my foot described that as a “ very wise approach …I wouldn’t trust us either ….”
The logical ripost would have been “ chance would be a fine thing.”
Our local health services have disintegrated in the last 7 years from the point where we used to have three doctors in our Surgery and there were three surgeries in the same building, now we have one doctor for three practices and they have been merged into one business. Nurse practitioners are less the way forward than the only realistic option, and they are proving tough to recruit.
Arguably this might have something to do with a word called “ Brexit” since many of the Doctors we had before were European. Who knows ? Perhaps that was political ? Perhaps my friend would suggest worrying about it was a waste of my time. ( He neither voted for or against it – because in his opinion it would make no difference.)
For me, at least in adulthood there was a natural reason not to be Doctor dependent. My mother was a classic description of a hypochondriac and also, had we known the phrase then, my own situation would now be described as “ Munchausen’s by proxy.” As a young child I was dragged into surgeries with mainly imagined issues. My medical files for my first 10 years make up 90% of the totality of my records and other than asthma I had very little to show for it. With all the time I was forced to put in, I feel cheated.
Neither did my mental child abuse stop there. My adoptive mother also used to dye my hair when I was 6 because she preferred little boys to be blonde. These days I shave my head. A psychiatrist might suggest that was a reaction to my early years perhaps “ early onset peroxide.”
Astonishing that I turned out as I am, but as only a wife of nearly 50 years can say “ Steve that isn’t necessarily a positive.”
Despite the above, I am now in my eighth decade, which begs the question “ where did the other seven go ?” There is a better question “ what to do with the rest ?”
Larkin lost his father when he was 63 and apparently spent a lot of the rest of his life wondering if he would make it past that age. He died at 63. It is one of the joys of being adopted that I have no conception of my family medical history. A true hypochondriac would find that deeply frustrating.
As the body creaks, as it inevitably must, my mind moves less towards hypochondria, I live with the creaks and look more towards possibilities.
Of course if you are not satisfied with this life you can hope for the next.
A very close friend of mine who was an elderly priest remarked several weeks before his own death “ I’m looking forward to the next journey” he was positively excited ! But I’d suggest that it is pretty important to also consider how you can affect the here and now because the future is a reflection of the past. What we do now our children inherit.
While all the staff do their best, the utter hopelessness of our local medical services is bizarrely liberating ! I can’t con myself that a total lack of interest in my prostate or in fact any form of preventive medicine means that I will not be ill. But this would not be a good area to be a hypochondriac. If there is no one to listen, it is kind of pointless.
Over the next weeks we will hear endless promises about health services. But unlike personal health, this isn’t really a situation when choosing not to worry makes sense. Just as being curious but not obsessed with your own health strikes a sensible balance, being curious about our health services and translating that into political interest is a definition of healthy citizenship. Yet I am certain that when campaigning I will regularly hear the words “ politics doesn’t interest me .”
It is a kind of mirror opposite of political hypochondria, a choice to turn a deaf ear and exercising the “la la la la” option in the hope that it will all turn out alright in the end. It is deeply worrying because I am hearing it more and more. We should be raging and yet collectively we are not. The French would be spraying the Arc De Triomphe with manure.
If anything, now is the time to be a political hypochondriac because for our public and health services the sirens can be heard and the ambulance is approaching.
Do we want the fastened doors to recede? I think right now being a political hypochondriac is a good thing. Our political health or malaise for the next five years will very soon be self applied .
A Body Made of Glass: A History of Hypochondria by Caroline Crampton is published by Granta (£16.99)
