I made a doctor’s appointment today.

That may not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me. If you don't include trips to the dentist and optometrist (and I do not), I have not seen a doctor for a check-up in over five years – since my final round of booster shots before beginning college. This is not because I am too lazy or busy, nor because I do not care about my health. In fact, you could say that I care too much about my health: I am a hypochondriac. Self-diagnosed, of course, because I am afraid of going to the doctor.

I constantly believe myself to be ill. There are many nights when I go to sleep wondering if I will have a stroke or heart attack in the night and never wake up. Every ache and pain with no easily identifiable cause turns into a cancer diagnosis. I have thought myself to have the beginnings of any number of diseases and disorders, from ALS to Parkinson’s to Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS).

As much as my irrational side wants to check into an emergency room immediately, my rational side says, “Nicola, stop being stupid. You are not sick. You are just anxious. If you go to the doctor, they will only get annoyed at you for wasting their time.” This does not stop the feelings though, and in fact covers up the deeper fear that a doctor will actually confirm my suspicions. So I don't go, and I continue to feel worried, stupid, and afraid, which in turn builds into an enormous obstacle I must face every time I think about having an annual physical like any normal person.

I can only speak to my own experiences, but I also know that I am not alone in this.

Especially in this day and age, when you can Google your symptoms and be presented with a myriad of maladies, it's so easy to spiral down into a quivering mess of what-ifs. There are so many different ways to die. I am lucky enough to comfort myself, sort of, with the fact that I have good health insurance should I ever get up the nerve to go to a check-up. However, many people don't, and I cannot even imagine how much worse the anxiety is for them.

Then there is the fact that when women tell doctors about their pain and symptoms, they are not taken seriously. If you need evidence, read the study: “The Girl Who Cried Pain: A Bias Against Women in the Treatment of Pain,” the incredible anecdotal article in The Atlantic: “How Doctors Take Women’s Pain Less Seriously,” the piece from The Independent: “How sexist stereotypes mean doctors ignore women’s pain,” the excellent, winding essay on both physical and emotional pain: “Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain,” and many other stories and instances in which female patients are not believed about the amount of pain they are in. There have even been cases where a woman has been dismissed by doctor after doctor only to prove that she had been right about her own diagnosis all along. This all means that women with anxiety, such as myself, can't always even trust what the doctor says if we manage to overcome the mental block keeping us from making an appointment. If a medical expert told me it was all in my head, I would believe it, because I often think that myself. But what if it's not? What if we are both wrong?

All of this being said, there are some things that have helped me cope better, humor being the biggest among them. When you are in a health panic, but know that you are in a health panic and are objectively being silly, it's good to recognize the silliness and laugh at yourself. I have a distinct memory in mind: my left elbow had been feeling alternately numb and painful for several hours, and I had no idea why (I have since come to the conclusion that my ulnar nerve had been pinched). I was very concerned and was starting to convince myself that it was something horrible that would require amputation, but I also knew that this was ridiculous. I texted a friend about it. He was incredibly patient with me and allowed me to explain my symptoms, my worries, and my worries about being worried. Then he said, “Clearly, you have elbow cancer.”

I don't even know why I found it so funny, but I did. It diffused the choking tension building in me. I still text him sometimes, when I feel the health panic starting up again. He listens to me, and then he tells me that the elbow cancer has spread to my ear or my lymph nodes or whatever I happen to be worrying about at the time. It still works.

The big news here is that I made a doctor's appointment for myself today. I am terrified that they will tell me that I have cancer or misdiagnose me and tell me that I am fine when really I am not (a real Catch-22, here), but I know that I am making an effort to calm my anxiety. That knowledge makes me feel better, almost as much as jokes about elbow cancer.

It takes a lot to overcome all the voices in your head, but I encourage you to have a yearly check-up if you can, even if you think you need it or that you will not be believed. It took me five years, but I know it is better to be proactive than to sit and wonder if you are going to die. I am looking forward to getting one step closer to having peace of mind, and I hope you do too.