Chapter 1: A Painful Dilemma

For the past five days, I’ve been grappling with intense pain on the right side of my face, which has only intensified. To complicate matters further, I was in Arizona when these symptoms struck. My doctor, whom I’ll refer to as Dr. Useless, was unable to assist me due to my location in California. I received no guidance, no prescriptions, and even the receptionist wouldn’t book an appointment for me upon my return.

It’s baffling.

As the discomfort escalated, so did my frustration at being unable to receive care simply because I crossed state lines. (I’m uncertain if this is actually a rule or not.) Regardless, Dr. Useless was unwilling to help.

Left to fend for myself, I turned to Google and spent countless hours poring over articles about my symptoms: excruciating, sharp pain beneath my nose; unbearable pressure in my cheeks, nose, and ears; headaches; difficulty breathing; stabbing sensations in my mouth; and an overwhelming sense of malaise that made me want to retreat from everything.

My search results suggested I might have Invasive Fungal Rhinosinusitis (IFR). Apparently, some form of fungus had invaded my sinus lining and blood vessels. My nasal passages and mouth felt inflamed, congested, and on the verge of explosion!

“Up to 80% of invasive fungal rhinosinusitis patients experience death or further morbidities” (Piromchai and Thanaviratananich).

I thought I was doomed. That is until I stumbled upon another article, leading me to self-diagnose with paranasal sinus cancer. Then, another source hinted at the possibility of Midline granulomas—cancer affecting the tissues in the center of the face.

I’m not naïve. My rational side recognizes that Google’s algorithms often highlight the most severe, life-threatening conditions when searching for any health symptoms.

Thus, my Google searches brought little solace. Instead, my heart rate escalated from a resting 59 BPM to 73 BPM. I was driving myself into a frenzy.

I didn’t have Invasive Fungal Rhinosinusitis. No, according to the internet, I had something entirely different, something I hadn’t accounted for amid the excruciating pain. I was experiencing “Cyberchondria,” a compulsive urge to investigate my health symptoms online. Yes, I am a Cyberchondriac.

To clarify, "Cyber" pertains to the computer age, while "hypochondria" refers to health anxiety. Essentially, it’s the “hypochondria in the digital era” (Starcevic).

In between bouts of pain, I’ve developed an additional concerning symptom: a compulsive need to search online for health information in an effort to alleviate my anxiety regarding my discomfort.

I feel trapped in a Joseph Hellerian Catch-22.

My Cyberchondria anxiety disorder amplifies my fears about my health. The more anxious I become, the more I feel compelled to scour the internet for answers. It’s a vicious cycle of compulsive searching and rising anxiety.

Supposedly, the intensity of this condition varies among individuals.

For me, it’s severe.

Some people—unlike myself—can conduct online health searches without fearing they are succumbing to Invasive Fungal Rhinosinusitis. They can process the information without succumbing to heightened health anxiety or Hypochondriasis. They approach their findings with calmness and objectivity, without the compulsion to search for alternative explanations.

They’re not overly curious. They’re just normal.

Returning to my situation with IFR, I’ve spent countless hours gathering information, analyzing and comparing data about my symptoms.

As a Semantic Researcher and Google Scholar with an ORCID identification, it seems fitting that I’ve effectively self-diagnosed myself with Cyberchondria.

Upon evaluating myself using The Cyberchondria Severity Scale, I was pleased to score high. I met the criteria for multidimensional compulsion disorder, exceeded expectations for emotional distress related to online health searches, and achieved top scores in distrust of medical professionals.

I take pride in my ability to excel, even in dire circumstances.

I still wonder: Is it truly Cyberchondria? The pain in my nose and sinuses persists. I may have to continue my search.

(If you see her, please delete her browsing history when she’s not looking. Clear all records of her Google searches.)

Just to clarify: This is a less-than-thorough research article. It’s not AI-generated. Unlike AI, I attribute my sources to researchers like myself who are both neurotic and curious enough to dig deep into the research.

Here are the sources for this article.

The first video, Short Hair, TikTok Wigs, and Tough Love: When to Let Go of Pets and Stop Self-Diagnosing, explores the complexities of self-diagnosis and the emotional toll it can take.

In the second video, Short Hair, TikTok Wigs, and Tough Love: When to Let Go of Pets and Stop Self-Diagnosing, the discussion continues, highlighting the importance of seeking professional help rather than relying solely on online resources.