Cyberchondriac (sy bur KA WN dree ak) n.

- a person who imagines they have a particular disease because their symptoms match those listed on an Internet health site.

I can't help myself. I think it's that control issue again. I just HAVE to google my symptoms, or my girls' symptoms, or my sister's symptoms... you get the idea. Usually my diagnosis has *some* accuracy, but often it's a worst case scenario, and Justin just sits back and rolls his eyes.

Well this week I've been SICK! I mean really sick. Sicker than I've been in a long, long time. Fever, chills, aches, skin that hurts when it's touched, sore throat that makes it nearly impossible to swallow, blocked ears and nasal passage, headache, neck ache, no appetite. The list goes on and on. On Tuesday when I realized this just wasn't going to run it's course, I headed to the Dr. and he told me I had tonsillitis. I was prescribed some horse pill antibiotics (exactly what you need when your throat is swollen beyond belief). I took those bad boys and just prayed that their effect would be as big as their size. Unfortunately, I woke up Wednesday morning with a stiff neck, awful headache and ears so plugged I could barely hear. I was officially worried. I diagnosed myself with some pretty serious illnesses and Justin, once again, rolled his eyes.

Thankfully, I woke up this morning with a small sense of relief. No more fever, which meant no more chills, aches or skin that hurt....and hopefully I wasn't contagious anymore {because I went to work}. Justin *knew* that I was just jumping to extremes. While at work I guess he was talking with a colleague about my fictitious diagnosis and the other guy was sharing stories of his wife doing the exact same thing! {Imagine that!} They were feeling all high and mighty, when another colleague (who happens to be a medical doctor) interjects to tell Justin that my "diagnosis was actually more common than you would think. That many infections can progress to become it." Hopefully, my diagnosis is incorrect. Hopefully, I'm on the mend. But I still feel some sense of satisfaction that a medical doctor agreed with my diagnosis {to an extent}. Sad, I know.

And the cyberchondria continues.