“Hi ChatGPT,” I began tentatively, “I have woken up with a solid lump on my right foot. Do you know what it might be?”
There was a bit of back and forth – yes, I could bear weight; no, it did not look infected – before the AI system suggested that a picture of my foot might help to narrow the diagnosis. (Clearly the Reply Guy’s fondness for a foot-pic has left its mark on the language learning model).
“I see a minor swelling on your right foot that could potentially be a bunion,” I was told.
There was a sleight of hand played here.
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My right foot is the one on the left-hand side of the photo.
“I meant the other foot!?!” I typed furiously, lest the chat system begin suggesting the abnormal hair growth on my toes could indicate what’s known as a high T diagnosis, or months-old shellac – a case of apathy.
“On your other foot is a considerable swelling,” came the response, alongside a lengthy list of possible diagnoses.
What could I do with these diagnoses?
Little, except to allow them to assuage my anxiety until a doctor’s visit the following week. On this visit, the diagnosis was narrowed down to a probable ganglion cyst – and a treatment plan offered. (There’s not much that can easily be done for a ganglion cyst, but thankfully I was one of the lucky few who got it sorted with some gel and a little massaging).
‘Accepting uncertainty in the face of illness is all well and good, until you encounter ‘the real world’
Before ChatGPT came along, I might google, “Why is my period late?” (It was still days before it was due), or “Does X medication make your face vibrate?”
On more vulnerable days, I might ask it “How do I know for definite if I am fertile?” or “Why is my dad’s ‘last seen’ on WhatsApp over 13 hours ago?”
You know, as I do, that the answers are rarely enlightening.
Indeed, a truly smart system might redirect you to some mindfulness exercises or share a link to The Serenity Prayer. Yet, I’m not sure it is enlightenment that I am after.
In this instance, it is the act rather than the outcome that offers solace. Searching for an answer allows me to feel that I am doing something, rather than having something done unto me.
[ Brigid O’Dea: The good things about having chronic migraineOpens in new window ]
I am in control.
With information so readily available, uncertainty has become increasingly difficult to accept. If you can tell me if and why the rice in my fridge has gone off, surely you can also tell me why it’s taken three hours for my boyfriend to text back.
Yet, accepting uncertainty is a key component in living with chronic illness. Going to bed each night, you must accept that you cannot know for certain how you will feel the following morning. Wasting your energy on predicting (or stressing about) how you might be is not a sensible use of the precious resource, and tends to be ill-advised by the experts.
[ We miss out on many things because of chronic illness ... love should not be oneOpens in new window ]
However, accepting uncertainty in the face of illness is all well and good, until you encounter “the real world”, where “I don’t know if I can attend your meeting/wedding/baby shower, etc” is not considered a sufficient response and an “I’ll wait and see” attitude will not get you tickets to the next CMAT show. If I have to embrace uncertainty, so too do you.
I was told by a doctor once that the more things that were tested for, the more likely I was to receive a diagnosis - however, she pointed out, this diagnosis might not actually be helpful in determining what was causing my symptoms, or in planning treatment. What might be more helpful, she suggested, is to understand the limits of our medical science.
There are some things we just do not yet know.
It was an admission that I found strangely comforting. In the age of information, admitting a gap in knowledge requires confidence, and thus builds trust. A self-assured “I don’t know” can be far more helpful than an “answer” pulled from you know where.
It’s worth remembering also that while uncertainty leaves space for anxiety, so too does it leave space for hope.
