Growing up, I always found the saying “step on a crack, break your mother’s back” to be utterly absurd. While my classmates chanted this rhyme, I couldn’t help but question their logic. After all, any rational person knows that sidewalk cracks have no connection to a person’s spine. Instead, I occupied my mind with far more plausible scenarios like, “Touch a public doorknob and contract MRSA—yikes!”
I was officially diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder at the age of ten, but the seeds of anxiety had been sown long before my first therapy session. I vividly recall reading on the couch when an episode of 20/20 featured the Ebola virus and its transmission through monkeys in Africa. My mind, akin to a hyperactive hamster on a wheel, spiraled into a frenzy of thoughts: How close was I to the monkey exhibit at the local zoo? Were those monkeys imported from a high-risk area? Did any of them sneeze near me?
Fast forward two decades, and while my worries have morphed, they remain just as fierce. My husband often jokes about my extensive disease research, lamenting that I don’t even have a medical degree to show for it. We play this ongoing game where he tries to sneakily remove WebMD from the homepage just to see how long it takes for me to notice and panic.
Over the years, I’ve learned to navigate my OCD triggers. Specific events can amplify my fears, so I’ve become adept at identifying what might spark my anxiety. For instance, salmonella spikes had me steering clear of salmon (forgive my nine-year-old self). If there was heightened security, airports and train stations were off-limits. But nothing could prepare me for the ultimate OCD trigger: a positive pregnancy test.
With pregnancy, a whole new world of medical worries opened up. I became acutely aware of illnesses that could endanger my unborn child. I honed in on Listeriosis, researching it nightly, convinced that avoiding deli meats, soft cheeses, and raw fish would keep me safe.
During my fifth month of what felt like the longest pregnancy in history, news broke of a listeria outbreak in Colorado. I monitored updates obsessively, even waking in the middle of the night to check for news. One Tuesday night, I plopped down with a massive bowl of pre-cut cantaloupe and a bottle of chocolate syrup, ready to watch CNN. Breaking news: they identified the source of the listeria outbreak—cantaloupe!
If you crossed paths with me in those days, I sincerely apologize. I called every grocery store in town, interrogated produce managers, and even sent my friend Sarah to ask if the cantaloupe was washed before being shelved. Despite my frantic efforts, I still felt I needed blood work and antibiotics. When I called the nurse at my gynecologist’s office to plead my case, she told me I was “fine” and that the outbreak didn’t affect Central Illinois.
In a moment of desperation, I concocted a little fib, claiming I’d been on a cross-country cantaloupe tour. She suggested I call back if I developed any symptoms. Oh, the joys of dealing with nurses!
I’ve tucked Listeriosis away in my ever-expanding catalog of OCD obsessions, which also includes Ebola, melanoma, and that odd Benjamin Button condition. I know this fixation will resurface during my next pregnancy, as all my obsessions tend to do. But for now, I’m enjoying a brief moment of calm. That’s the nature of OCD—you must ride each wave and wait for a fleeting sense of peace to wash over you. Today is a good day, so I plan to take a lovely stroll with my daughter… once I’ve disinfected her stroller. I hear influenza is staging a comeback!
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Summary
In this humorous reflection, Jamie shares her lifelong struggles with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, detailing how irrational fears and medical anxieties have shaped her experiences, particularly during pregnancy. From worries about infections to her unique coping strategies, her narrative reveals the challenges of living with OCD while maintaining a sense of humor.