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Psychosomatic: When Body and Mind Join Forces

© Dr. Bob Orndoff

It feels like something you can't quite swallow...a slight touch of a tiny lump, maybe just a little piece of food that won't go down right or the strain of too much talking on the phone. Whatever, it'll go away, you say to yourself, trying to focus on the rest of the day's work.

But in the evening--when you finally have a chance to unwind, to go out in the backyard, smell the flowers and take a sip of wine--you sit down on the bench next to the garden, purse you lips for a little sip...but you can't swallow! The harder you try the more you know you can't swallow, and you're a little scared. You've never had this happen before, you're suddenly baffled and more than a little worried.

Water, cold water. That'll work, you're thinking without really knowing it, and you go quickly to the kitchen sink and give it a try. It's such a relief, knowing you're not going to choke, as you feel the cool water slide down inside your tense throat. But, still, it's not the same as it was. Swallowing is hard now, and it wasn't yesterday.

What's happening to me? You almost hear your own voice as your mounting concern rushes to surface.

For the rest of the evening and into next day, the throat thing has calmed down, but still you feel as if there's something caught that won't go completely down and swallowing is still too hard. You've even realized the more you tried swallowing, the more fatigued your throat became, so you try to focus on something else. But by mid afternoon the next day, even though you're swamped with work, you muster the courage--because you really don't want to hear any bad news--and call for a doctor's appointment.

"How long?" Your doctor asks.

"Since yesterday." You reply.

The entire exam is brief, some questions, a tongue-depressor and a light down your throat until you gag a bit.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh"

"A little more...stick you tongue out just a little more. That's it." Your doctor says while the woody taste of the depressor galls the back of your tongue.

You notice your doctor writing on two slips of paper, and you wait anxiously for some remark that will let you know that whatever you've got, it's minor and will be gone tonight.

"I want you to get this filled and take one pill four times a day." The doctor says flatly, while still scribbling on a little perforated form. "Take one as soon as you get home and one more before bedtime."

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