Cyberchondria: What? Me worry?

I had to laugh at a condition described on a recent news report. Cyberchondria is a term first used in a 2001 article published the UK newspaper The Independent to describe “the excessive use of internet health sites to fuel health anxiety” (it also was first used by the BBC that same year). Several studies have been conducted confirming the prevalence of this disorder and its tendency to escalate concern about common symptoms and increase misuse of medical information (google cyberchondria for a full description of the studies and their findings).

Undoubtedly, web crawls exponentially multiply the number of resources for laypersons to access the medical universe. But for symptom-scared folks like me who despite spousal protest purchased (and hid) a copy of the Merck Manual; who as a child regularly consulted a big, green medical text (the name escapes me) with those plastic overlays of the body’s “systems” in the centerfold; who will tell you that every headache is a potential brain tumor and every wound harbors gruesome infection cyberchondria is not news. It is confirmation — almost sad —that as we try to learn more about ourselves, we seem to feel we have to seek answers on our own and not ask our providers— a statement on bedside manner, time clinicians allot patients, and trust that our complaints will not be blown off.

Clinicians: If I take time to come see you, assume all is not well. Ask me. Look at me (not your drop-down EMR menu). If you are running late, you probably had kept me waiting, so don’t rush in and out. We at OWM strive (especially with our soon-to-be-revamped Archives) to give you the information you need to share with patients. Please read us and tell them. Or at least, offer worthwhile websites for your patients to visit. Including ours!

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Two-dimensional life

Much to my chagrin, Barnes and Noble recently announced they would be closing a number of their stores. At that point, I hadn’t test-run my new Kindle Paperwhite, so while I was sad to see yet another retailer succumb to the digital age of publication, I was anticipating the novelty of novels consumed via tablet and not panicking at the thought, But where will I get my books? Amazon is fun and all, but I like to browse. See full sensory experience below.

I just returned from a 6-day vacation with my new reading device. Did I like it? Not so much. It’s too two-dimensional.

Reading thus far for me has been a full sensory experience. The feel and smell of the paper (especially a magazine or journal, fresh off the press. It may harken me back to the days when as a school helper I ran off copies of tests or newsletters and got high on the mimeograph ink.) The heft of the text. Oh, and bookmarks (even if mine sometimes are only a straw wrapper or napkin swiped from the eatery at which I started my new book). With a reading device, the words lay flat on a backlit “page.” Each page looks exactly the same. Plus, I found the “time to end of the chapter” and “percent read” notations (settings I hope I can delete) distracting — I started playing games with myself to see if I could beat the times. The device seemed to facilitate faster reading, but that, too, is a detriment, because I like to linger, consider, re-read, savor. With the Kindle, I am consuming a story. Period.

This episode brought to mind two technology-related topics: the potential for print journals to disappear and the practice of telemedicine. With regard to the print journal, I keep hearing that our audience still wants its monthly paper dose of OWM — that despite our online availability, clinicians who request OWM want a version they can tuck into purses and briefcases, read, copy, and hand off to colleagues. I would like to hear more about our readers’ preferences. Although fewer print journals theoretically translates to more trees and lower mailing costs, I empathize with the happy realization that OWM is in your outdoor mailbox. Is all-digital really how you want us?

And obviously, using telemedicine to reach patients who otherwise have difficulty accessing professional care must be a godsend. But as a recent My Scope of Practice cautions, a view to a computer monitor  can never replace hands-on, three-dimensional wound, ostomy and incontinence management. I also want to hear more about your telemedicine encounters.

Meanwhile, I will finish the last two novels I downloaded to my Kindle, but I will still make sure to have a few fragrant, textured, paper- and hardcover books (and magazines/journals) on hand for my reading pleasure. It’s like potato chips. Sure, I eat the (healthier) baked variety. But occasionally, I just gotta have the real thing.

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