About once a year, I diagnose myself with an incurable disease.
To date, I’ve had neck cancer (a benign cyst), colon cancer (my poop looked weird), gout (my feet were tingly), and HIV (I was tired).
Then last week, a curious mole on the back of my leg started to itch.
“Melanoma,” I thought, scrolling through the symptoms on WebMD.
The inception of Google has turned my general sense of unease into full-blown hypochondria, like a steroid for fear.