So I spotted a tiny rash the other day and my first thought wasn’t “maybe I brushed against a bush” or “I should change my detergent.” No. My brain, in its glorious hypochondriac majesty, screamed MEASLES. Not mild skin irritation, not a rogue mosquito bite—nope, full-on outbreak, cue CDC alert.

Then I coughed. Once. Just once. 
And my internal diagnostic team went straight to bronchitis. And you know what? This time they were right. Which, frankly, is terrible reinforcement for someone like me. Don’t validate the hypochondria, universe. That’s like giving a toddler espresso.

Then there was the leg pain. A normal person might stretch. Maybe take a walk. But me? I’m Googling “deep vein thrombosis survival rate” at 1 a.m. while icing my shin and making a will in my notes app. Just in case.

But I’ve found the true accelerant to my madness: pharmaceutical ads. You know the ones. I try to binge a cute, escapist rom-com on Hulu and suddenly I’m being warned about a rare flesh-dissolving syndrome linked to a medication I’ve never heard of but now absolutely believe I need—or already have the condition it treats. 

“Ask your doctor if Slumbrafex is right for you.” 
Me: “Wait…should I be asking? Why is everyone in this commercial frolicking in a meadow while casually talking about liver failure?” 

By the time the credits roll, I’ve self-diagnosed with three autoimmune disorders, a fungal lung infection found only in rare South American parrots, and some kind of restless ear syndrome. 

Honestly, it might be a public service if those direct-to-consumer pharma ads got banned. Let me have my neuroses in peace, without wondering if I now also have plaque psoriasis, chronic dry mouth, and “moderate to severe” anything. At this point, I’m 90% sure I have a condition called Ad-watching-induced Anxieticosis. 

So here I am, a Bronx-born, coffee-fueled, PhD-toting worrywart trying to make it through the day without being seduced into believing I need a prescription for something that starts with “Zy” and ends with a list of side effects longer than my last CVS receipt. 

Until then, I’ll just keep slathering on the cortisone, sipping tea for my maybe-bronchitis, and doing leg stretches like they’re part of a crime scene investigation. 

And if I start seeing ads for a new medication for “hyper-awareness of internal bodily sensations”… I’m calling my doctor. Clearly, they wrote that one just for me.