Queen of Self Diagnosis.

You know me as the Happy Runner. Or maybe by my given name, Felice. But, truth be told, you should get to know me as Her Royal Highness the Queen of Self Diagnosis.

If there is a sore muscle, tendon, ligament, joint, what have you, on this here body, I will concoct a diagnosis. It might not suit me and it might not be correct but I will -- with a confidence better left to someone who spent some long amount of time in medical school -- declare my diagnosis to anyone who cares to listen. Like my trusty two-year old. Or my cat. Or, if he's not already bored by my stream of declarations, my husband.

Torn meniscus! Or just an interior thigh muscle that needs to be more properly stretched.

Runner's knee! Or just a twinge that will disappear after a few days off.

One leg longer than the other! (Leg length discrepancy syndrome?) Or just not.

Raynaud's syndrome! Or just really poor running attire choices.

You get the picture.

So, imagine, if you will, what HRH The Queen of Self Diagnosis must be like when called upon to diagnosis her precious little toddler. Her only son. Heir, as it were, to the throne.

Well. You can't imagine, sorry. I just don't think you can truly imagine the level of hysteria that can come in to play.

About a month ago, I found a tick on my son's head. You may recall that I wrote about how checking for ticks is an important summer ritual, and one that everyone should get in the habit of doing. I've been in the habit. I've checked and re-checked. Checked my body, checked my son's body. Check, check, check.

But, that weekend one month ago I failed. When I finally noticed the tick it had not only bitten my son but had become grossly, disgustingly engorged. It took me several panicky minutes to pull the thing out of Conal's head.

Since the bite, I have been on Lyme disease watch. Or, more accurately, blowing-every-little-thing-out-of-proportion-because-it-could-be-Lyme disease watch. Every little thing that happens and . . . Lyme disease! The boy has Lyme disease!

Prickly heat? You've got to be kidding. That rash is clearly indicative of the bartonella co-infection! OK, so it wasn't but it could have been.

Bad dream? What?!?!?! A child crying out in the middle of the night is most certainly a sign of . . . something Lyme-related.

I can't take the paranoia. It stinks and it is all my own doing, this I know. Being the Queen of Self Diagnosis, though, I'm inclined that way. It's been a month since the bite and my son hasn't shown any major signs of Lyme disease. I should relax and pay less attention to the fabricated symptoms and more attention to, I don't know, maybe my tight piriformis? But it is just difficult. I'm scared about this Lyme disease.

Oh, well. I'll get over it. You know, once Conal is a healthy teen and I have nothing else to worry about!

Until then, I'm hitting the treadmill for speed work this afternoon. That should wring out some of my paranoia, right?

~ HRH The Queen of Lyme Disease Paranoia

(Hey, when you're queen, you get to change your name whenever you want!)