I can’t help but feel a twinge of self-pity when I think about my obsessive-compulsive disorder. Why couldn’t I just have a manageable issue, like an annoying hangnail or a crooked toe? But then, I get lost in thoughts about how to address those minor nuisances, and I find a flicker of gratitude for my OCD instead. After all, it’s not the worst thing; I can still enjoy a fairly normal life, and at least I don’t need to wear corrective shoes.
As I write this, I’m lounging poolside at a stunning hotel on the first day of my five-day getaway. The infinity pool is impressive, surrounded by fountains and staffed with people offering refreshing strawberry-infused water and warm towels. I’m trying to unwind with a captivating book and some brain-teasing puzzles. It feels like a slice of paradise—until the peace is shattered by the shrill cries of a child: “Help! Mom, Dad, look at me! Help!” Clearly, this kid has never heard of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I cast a disapproving glance his way, only to be horrified as I spot him triumphantly retrieving a massive booger from his nose. In a moment of desperation, I find myself wishing he would just eat it. Unfortunately, he’s flicking it into the pool—right into the water where my husband is beckoning me to join him.
I realize I’ll need to navigate through the snot-filled waters to reach him. To avoid this, I decide to enter the pool from the far side, performing a careful dance around the scorching deck to swim over to my husband. He raises an eyebrow when I finally arrive. “Why didn’t you just get in at the steps?”
“Oh, I thought I’d sneak up on you,” I reply, attempting to sound casual.
“Stealthy, huh? Well, everyone’s eyes were on you during your hot coal dance.” He pulls me close, and for a brief moment, I relish the intimacy of being in the water together. But then my eyes dart around, scanning for that booger. Could it have made its way across the pool? Is there even a current?
“Did you hear what I said?” my husband asks.
“No, I was… distracted,” I admit, my mind racing with thoughts of a Hazmat suit.
“Distracted by the baby?” he probes.
What baby? I frantically search for a cute toddler to block out the visions of a giant blob of snot.
“That one over there, playing on the steps,” he points out.
I spot the toddler, a little one with a sagging diaper that seems heavy with more than just water. I instinctively lift my head higher onto my husband’s shoulder, trying to maintain some semblance of cleanliness while clenching my Kegel muscles against the thought of E. Coli lurking nearby. I contemplate how best to escape this germ-infested pool.
“Can we get out?” I ask desperately.
“Already? We just got here!” he responds.
“I know, but I’m burning up. I need to get out of the sun.” (And away from this Petri dish!)
With a resigned sigh, my husband lets me go. He’s learned over our years together that reasoning with my OCD is futile—my mind is wired to obsess over germs and health risks. Despite progress made through therapy and medication, the idea of immersing myself in a pool of boogers and feces is simply too much for my anxiety to bear. There’s no amount of Purell that can fix this problem. I’m going to need a nuclear-level shower.
I close my eyes, splash my way to the stairs, and bolt out of the pool. Once I’m back in our room, I crank the shower up as hot as I can tolerate and shampoo my hair twice. After washing my swimsuit with Woolite and hanging it on the balcony to dry, a wave of fatigue hits me. I need a nap.
Before settling in, I strip the bed of its comforter and decorative pillows (those are rarely cleaned) and inspect the sheets for any signs of contamination. I wish I had one of those Luminol lights that crime scene investigators use! Do they sell them on Amazon? With my legs stretched out on the bed and my computer on my lap, I suddenly notice the slight curling of my second and third toes…
In Summary
My struggle with OCD often turns moments that should be enjoyable—like a vacation—into a source of anxiety and discomfort. Despite the beautiful surroundings and opportunities for relaxation, my mind is constantly preoccupied with potential threats and cleanliness issues. Yet, I find ways to cope and navigate through these challenges, even if it means taking extra precautions.
Keyphrase: OCD and vacation struggles
Tags: home insemination kit, home insemination syringe, self insemination