making a river in egypt out of spilt milk

We all have our own coping mechanisms for dealing with stress.
Some people eat their emotions. Others choose to drink them, while still others prefer to smoke them, inject them or sniff them. And then there are those who, instead of consuming them, choose to spend them or gamble them away. I, for one, like to distract myself, or fool myself into thinking that I have other, more important things to worry about.

Take the recent stress caused by an impending Masters comp exam compounded by an impending divorce. But don't worry about me. I'm dealing with it just fine. I mean, how can I wallow in self-pity and plummet to the depths of despair if I have to check my breasts hourly for lumps and examine them in the mirror for signs of inflammatory breast cancer?

Because, let's face it, if I'm gonna get breast cancer, it can't just be your old run-of-the mill breast cancer. No. It must be IBC, often misdiagnosed and much more deadly than your average breast malignancy. I think that imagining myself sick brings me solice because it's something I can control. Can't control the exam. Can't control this hell I'm living in at home. But I can control my symptoms, because the disease is all in my mind. Deep down I know that I'm not sick. I do. But sometimes I just let myself believe that I am.