Welcome to the World of Self Diagnosis of a Hyprocontriate

I’m just gonna say it… I wasn’t emotionally prepared for cholesterol medicine to choose violence.

You know how the commercials casually say, “May cause muscle pain?” Like you might pull a hamstring reaching for the remote. What they don’t mention is waking up feeling like your entire body got into a bar fight with itself overnight—and nobody’s willing to apologize.

One minute I was fine. Then my back hurt. Then my shoulders. Then my ribs. Then my arm. Then some mystery spot under my armpit I didn’t even know existed.

Naturally, I did what every calm, rational person does… diagnosed myself with everything on the internet. Lupus? Probably. Fibromyalgia? Sure, why not. Polymyositis? Dermatomyositis? I can't even pronounce them, but they sound expensive. A thyroid problem? Toss it in. Vitamin deficiency? Maybe. A rare muscle disease found only in people over 50 who Google symptoms after dark? Seems legit. I am over 50. Or maybe an alien is using my muscles as a trampoline. Honestly… still not ruling that one out.

Poor Dennis has heard more about my muscles in the last four days than in the previous 33 years. I'm pretty sure he's quietly eyeing the guest room until the nice people arrive with the white jackets.

The good news? Every blood test came back normal… except one white blood cell count that apparently didn't get the memo and decided to add a little drama. So now I'm stuck wondering if my statin threw the world's biggest temper tantrum, or if I picked up some random virus just to keep things interesting.

The worst part isn't even the pain. It's that once you hit a certain age, every symptom becomes a new rabbit hole. "Oh... my left pinky twitched." Five minutes later you're reading about six diseases you've never heard of and somehow convincing yourself you have all of them.

Apparently aging now comes with a side hustle in overthinking and symptom tracking. Every ache is homework. Every weird twinge is an unscheduled pop quiz.

If you've ever wondered what getting older feels like, it's basically your body sending out complaint notices on a rotating schedule while the maintenance department is permanently on vacation.

So for now, I've broken up with my statin, I'm cautiously reintroducing my muscles to normal life, and I'm trying very hard not to Google anything after 9 p.m. Because if the internet has taught me anything, it's that by 9:15 I'm either dying… or I just slept funny. Honestly, I'm rooting for "slept funny."

If nothing else, I've learned two important things: my body has a real flair for theatrics, and I am absolutely not cut out for a career in self-diagnosis.