Illness is 90 percent psychological

I was in the emergency room again. My shortness of breath was getting worse every day (or so I thought), plus I was nauseous and the dreaded diarrhea had returned. In short, I was miserable. I could hardly walk across the room without sucking air and my chest pounding, like I'd run a hundred-yard dash. I called my pulmonologist in Iowa City. His nurse told me to get to the ER.

I packed a little bag of essentials in case I was hospitalized again, and off Ginnie and I scooted. At the ER they did a CT scan of my chest. The doc reported, “Good news, the scan shows a decrease in the number of embolisms in your lungs from five weeks ago. The bad news, there's no explanation for your shortness of breath worsening. Your blood work looks good, your oxygen level is where it should be, you can go home.”

Ginnie and I were a little taken aback. But then I remembered back to when I was a freshman in college and taking Intro to Psychology. The professor made the bold statement that, “All illnesses are ninety percent psychological.” Some of the students rejected that premise completely. One of the students said, “You mean to tell me that when I'm heaving my guts out, running a fever of one-hundred and two degrees, and can't hold my head up, that it's psychological?”

“The mind is so powerful,” said the professor.

Groans all around.

But then the professor sited some studies where placebos were used, and doctors telling patients they were seriously ill when there was nothing wrong, etc. The class began to change its tune.

I remembered my hypochondriac mother reading her wellness magazines. It seemed like every serious illness it described, my mother could adopt, and drive her doctor and us crazy.

I thought about it on the way home. The ER doc had told me what I needed to know. I wasn't as sick as I thought, or my mind told me I was. I decided to take a different approach. “What the mind can conceive and believe, the mind can achieve.” Napoleon Hill

A friend called while I was in the bathroom, sick, and asked how I was doing. I lied and bellowed, “Gggrreeaatt!” like Tony the Tiger, trying to convince myself that I felt good.

I then went out in the garden and picked tomatoes in the heat and humidity of the afternoon. I picked a five-gallon bucket full of 'maters and was feeling pretty proud of myself. However, when I went to carry the bucket to the house, which is a fair piece, I was sucking hot air so bad, and my chest was pounding, I knew I might not make it. I had to sit down in the shade and call Ginnie to drive out to pick me up. She did, and gave me a good scolding.

But the 'maters sure were purdy, all warshed up, sparkling on the kitchen counter. Just the sight of those red beauties made me feel better. It's all psychological.

Then my cousin and his wife from Arizona paid a visit. Since my 77th birthday was coming up, they took us out to dinner and ordered up the special cosmopolitan ice-cream, rocket candle, birthday cake. A feller can't help but feel better with one of those.

For my actual birthday, which is July 28, Ginnie's going to take me to the balloon races in Indianola. I have never seen them. I wanna see the tapioca balloon-scape in a “marble-aid” sky.

Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com. Curt is available for public speaking.