Deadly Paranoia

Sudden death has got me paranoid. You've all heard the stories. My childhood friend, for example, didn't tell anyone about pains in his stomach. When he went to the doctor, it was discovered that his appendix had ruptured, and he could very easily have died. Hilary Swank almost died filming 'Million Dollar Baby' because blisters on her feet got infected. Every day of the year, people kick the bucket without any warning, and for the most odd reasons imaginable.

I think it has to do with the fact that any number of things could go suddenly wrong in our bodies. Something could burst or rupture or just plain stop working. I've had dreams of heart-attacks which felt real, and being able to perfectly imagine what it would feel like certainly doesn't help.

I probably shouldn't worry. I'm a fairly healthy young woman. But what would it take for my appendix to go haywire and kill me? How do I know that I don't have some sort of minuscule cancer growing in me as a result of years under the harsh Australian sun. How do I know?

I suppose I could always go and get a complete check up. That would probably reassure me. But with things seemingly so easily going awry... I don't know. Would I trust results? Well, probably, yes.

It could simply be the fact that I've had a fair bit of contact with death in my life. Friends, family, teachers and surrogate Uncles and Aunts have all kicked the bucket. I suppose I'm equal parts resigned and morbidly fatalistic. Occasionally, I'll wonder who will go next. And that's a horrible thought. I don't want to imagine my life with one less person in it, whoever that may be. But some morbid part of me wonders.

We live in a dangerous time. Even something as simple as second-hand smoke is a killer.

Forgive me for being nervous. I'm almost disgusted with myself for being so macabre. Don't get me wrong, I accept the fact that it's inevitable. I just don't want it to happen any time soon. That, I'm certain, is a thought echoed by nearly every soul on the planet.