Never Ask Dr. Google

 Maybe all catastrophes start with a sneeze. Not even a particularly spectacular one, just a mundane, routine, average Tuesday morning type of sneeze. 

Mine started like that, but the more I thought about it, the more something about that singular sneeze seemed off. I began asking myself questions: Was it a little too forceful? A little too sudden?

It rapidly went from the not think about it variety to the kind that stresses you out because it seems suspiciously like the kind that preceded a characters untimely demise at minute 38 of a Chicago Med episode.

I sniffled, paused, and made the first of many poor decisions that morning: I consulted Dr. Google.

Okay. For the record, drama was not my intent. I simply searched "random sneeze causes", nothing more. Very calm and casual, a mere inquiry. Just me casually engaging in a little amateur medical detective work.

The results popped up faster than a bouncy-castle at a Children's Hospital fundraiser:

Allergies.

A cold.

Dust.

Nasal polyps.

Accidental inhalation of pepper.

A rare neurological condition causing spontaneous cranial pressure that usually presents with sneezing before a fatal aneurysm.

So Now I Have Six Months

That escalated quickly.

I searched further, because surely a few more clicks would find me real answers that shone with clarity. Instead, I got caught up in sites explaining medical jargon with more medical jargon.

I somehow ended up in a chatroom with people with usernames like "DeceasedInDallas92" and "ProbNotDeadYet." Ten minutes later I was frantically clicking between articles titled "Common Cold or Harbinger of Doom?" and "When is the Right Time to Stop Worrying About a Sneeze? 'Snot Now."

And that's when my eye started twitching.

Naturally, the deep dive into terminal sneezing had to be paused so I could look up "eye twitching causes." Because multitasking is important in the realm of self-diagnosis. And I marvel at Google's efficiency at assassinating inner peace. It presented:

Fatigue.

Too much caffeine.

Dehydration.

Early onset Parkinson's.

Possibly malfunctioning brain-wave patterns opening another dimension through an open wi-fi portal.

So Now I Have Three Months

By this time I was no longer researching symptoms so much as I was planning my farewell tour. I opened my laptop to Word and started writing a heartfelt letter to friends and family and people I tolerated. It ended with "Know that I sneezed nobly and twitched with quiet dignity."

I started spell-checking and editing my farewell letter for proper tense when I suddenly had to give up.

I got a cramp in my left calf.

Harmless muscle fatigue, right? Ha! Noooooooooooo!!

Google had me diagnosed:

Electrolyte imbalance.

Deep vein thrombosis. (Ironically, great name for a brass band.)

ALS.

Imminent self-amputation.

Pre-emptive ghost pain syndrome.

So Now I Have Three Weeks

Goodbye farewell letter, hello self-loving eulogy. It felt like the responsible and helpful thing to do. I even made a playlist of dramatic instrumentals to be used during the funeral slideshow. 

I can look back now and admit, that may have been a bit much.

My wife came into my office one morning to find me furiously typing while sipping some herbal tea, wrapped in a blanket, face smeared in sunscreen, sunglasses, with a hard hat, safety boots, child-safe scissors, and a bendy straw. 

I looked up at her and whispered, "You never know."

She calmly suggested I step away from the laptop and go see an actual doctor.

It was too late. I was too far gone. I had entered the Valley of Cyberchondria and Dr. Google was my travel agent.

Somewhere between a pop-up add for cremation discounts and a 44 minute YouTube video of some guy who claimed he'd beaten Lyme disease with dill pickles and once had watching a Chuck Norris movie cure him of death, I developed chest tightness.

Which could mean:

Anxiety. (Duh)

Muscle strain. (Possible)

Heart attack. (Googles most cheery option)

"Some sort" of lung collapse. (Just breathe)

Rabid bat exposure on the Ides of March (???)

So Now I Have Four Days

I started to make peace with my situation. I gave meaningful glances to newly freaked-out neighbors. I called Dave and apologized for blaming everything on him. I made a 20 pack of hot dogs and used up all the expired condiments in the fridge. Because, what could it hurt?

But even then I couldn't stop. I needed to know everything because knowledge, after all, is power. If I was going down, I was going to be either fully informed or wildly misled.

Google gave me an online diagnostic quiz that told me I was either experiencing "seasonal depression disorder with allergic side effects" or going through "the late stages of Martian flu." I didn't get upset; that felt about right.

Eventually, in a fit of temporary insanity and insistence by my wife, I went to see an actual doctor. The kind with a degree and a stethoscope instead of a Wi-Fi connection and a funeral director's sense of humor.

The diagnosis?

Allergies.

Eye strain from staring at screens too long.

Too much caffeine.

Not enough water.

And - believe it or not - stress.

Apparently, trying to solve the mysteries of your health condition on Google can induce great anxiety. Who knew??

I was sent home with a recommendation to rest, hydrate, and stop playing medical detective with my own symptoms. Wise advice.

And yet, despite knowing where it could lead, I still occasionally find myself Googling strange body sensations. An ear-pop with no elevation change. Why I sweat when nervous, but only behind my knees. Why I occasionally forget the name of someone I just met. I hope it's not early onset, uh, what do you call it? Uh...

Maybe it's just age. They say the first thing to go is your... hmm...

... ... ...

... ... ???

Never mind. These days, I try to stop myself by page two of the results because that's where the reasonable conclusions are drawn. Before forums become horror stories and articles written by some guy who heard something from the cousin of somebody who stated somewhere that there was a conspiracy theory involving sump pumps.

I'll admit, every so often I fall off the ambulance.

Like last week, my thumb felt a bit tingly. I lasted a solid 20 minutes before I caved. Just a quick search, I told myself. No big deal.

Dr. Google answered:

Could be carpal tunnel.

Could be circulation.

Could be your organs re-organizing themselves. It's called Picassoliosis.

So Now I've Been Deceased for 76 Hours

How could this happen? What if my eyeballs migrate to my knees? Where would the positive spin on that be? That if I don't have enough strength to stand anymore, at least I'll be able to see what I'm kneeling on??

I'm okay now. No need to alert the authorities through the comment section.

The moral of this story? Don't entrust your medical care to a search engine. Google is great for recipes, directions, identifying that actor you just know you've seen before. But when it comes to your health, it's like getting directions from a guy in a dark alley:

"Follow me! I know a shortcut. No, no, no. It's "through" the graveyard."

Ask your doctor. Drink some water. Get more sleep. Repeat as necessary. 

And stop trying to self-diagnose every time you notice your eyebrows grow a half-dozen bright red hairs twice as fast as all the mousy brown ones. Or they twitch.

If they start doing the Macarena every time a Bee Gees tune comes on, okay, by all means call someone immediately. 

Just not Dr. Google.