I am currently dying of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, beloved of hypochondriacs because its symptoms are very vague and it often isn't detected until it is quite advanced, and liver failure, precipitated by a bout of suicidally heavy drinking... ten years ago. The fact that I had a complete blood panel three years ago, and that my liver was deemed to be in perfect working order, does not matter a bit, of course. I am also concerned about that lump in my mouth and the fact that my knees keep going all tingly for no apparent reason, but that's probably the NHL.

This sort of thing also runs in my family. My father cannot go two months without getting some organ or other scanned. My brother has suffered from a vague suspicion that his heart was going to explode for no reason for years, but his hypochondria manifests most readily in his fear of flying; instead of obsessing about tingly knees, he obsesses about unexpected rattly noises.

Coffee is a killer, a hypochondriac panic attack in a cup. (I drink it anyway.) Xanax helps tremendously. So does spending a lot of money on emergency room visits; the only thing that reliably cures my symptoms is sitting in an emergency room. But the single best medicine is pointing and laughing at one's own gloriously fucked-up, ridiculous self. That and reading articles like this one.

Nobody can live for very long without bowel irregularities, rahes, allergies, bleeding gums, sore tendons, irregular heart beat, etc. etc, etc. You don't have a "Million things" wrong with you, just one: you obsess over every little symptom until that feeling rules your life. You may as well learn to deal with these symptoms and a thousand others the flesh is heir to. It's called "building character." You don't hear much about that anymore, probably because the drug companies can't bottle it and sell it.

My reaction to people who are not happy unless they have something to worry about, including their health, is to give them something to worry about. "Are you OK?" "Do you feel all right?" "Where did that come from?" "Has anyone looked at that?" "How long have you had that?" When they're through talking with me, they have at least one or two more reasons to be anxious, and I know I've made them happy. It's the least I can do.

The greatest gift the gods ever gave mortals is a good disposition.

I know several people who have DIED of cancer, and several who are fighting it valiantly and never complain. My mother has diabetes, arthritis and is blind in one eye and at the age of 74 rides her bicycle every day. I have MS. There are veterans returning every day from overseas with traumatic brain injuries and fewer LIMBS than they were born with. WAKE UP AND THANK GOD THAT YOU HAVE THE WITS AND THE VOICE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR IMAGINARY CRAP. I don't want to hear about it anymore. LORD! That this person should make money off of this crap is beyond me.

Jesus, you people sound like the clueless assholes who tell people with clinical depression to "get over it." I suffer from generalized anxiety disorder that from time to time will cross over into hypochondria. Fortunately, it's not too bad and I've been able to manage it positively by turning it into motivation to work out like a fiend, eat a great diet and get really healthy. But it never truly goes away.

Hypochondria is not being self-absorbed, having nothing better to do or looking for attention. It is a full-blown, honest-to-Pete fucking anxiety disorder. A mental illness. Not the worst one a person can have, but no picnic, either. So unless you know what it's like to spend 24 hours in a cold sweat because you bled into the toilet bowl after a particularly rough bowel movement, spent six hours obsessively surfing the Web for symptoms and were convinced you had colon cancer, shove your all-knowing "get over it" advice, please.

Maybe misspelling basic medical terms is a symptom of something. I am one of two physicians who make up a paradox. Call me and I'll let you know my number.

Can you cite any peer-reviewed, published scientific studies that show that telling people to "get an effing life" is an effective therapeutic strategy for treating the mentally ill?

From my experience, when someone's brain isn't working right, yelling at them really doesn't help it work better.

It's like kicking a computer when it catches a virus. Okay, sure, you got to express some rage. Bet that felt good, huh? But your rage didn't help the computer one bit.

Usually the best thing to do is figure out what's really wrong, and work from there.

I was going to write in and say that a lot of my family thought I was being a hypochondriac when I would complain randomly about what I thought was repetitive stress disorder or thoracic outlet syndrome from computer work, but as it turned out actually WAS stage three Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Someone else beat me to the mention of NHL, though, go figure. First time I tried to have my complaints checked out, the doctor treated me rather badly and then told me I had injured my shoulder but that I should work through the pain and take some ibuprofen and I'd be fine to do any type of work I wanted, even manual labor. The second time I was seen I thought I had bronchitis. This was six months after the first visit and after I had developed a seal-like barking cough to go along with the random numbness, pain, and swelling that came and went in my arms and shoulders and neck. After they finally ordered some scans, I found out the cough was from the now very large tumors pressing on my heart and lungs, as well as my vena cava.

Sometimes it IS a good idea to have things checked out, even if the first doctor you see thinks you're making it up and treats you like crap. Maybe they did this because I was only 27 and most 27 year olds don't have serious problems and are then suspect if they come in complaining of vague symptoms, but I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with respect (including the doctors, nurses, and staff that help you out, obviously) and have their issues given the proper attention. You know the saying, "just because you're paranoid...?" Every once in a while it's with good reason.