OCD and Medicine

I always thought having obsessive-compulsive disorder was a very obvious ordeal. I thought the fact that I could open a door without turning the knob three times, and that I never made my bed or kept my room spotless meant that I could not possibly have OCD.

I think I stigmatised myself to the point of thinking I was just anxious, childish or had possible anger issues.

Coming to medical school with undiagnosed and thus untreated OCD, in the middle of a pandemic, was not the easiest task. I struggled every day and called myself lazy, ignored thought patterns and compulsions, the constant need for reassurance. I found comfort in my obsessions, calling them passions and anxieties.

Careful lists and plans regarding my schedule and social routine, lists of friends and activities, number generators to make decisions for me. If my plans did not work out, I couldn’t accept it and had to spend hours thinking of my obsession, hours discussing them with whoever would listen. Forced to scrap my day and focus on what I did not do.

No one who just observed me day-to-day would have thought I have a disorder that debilitated every thought and action that should have been normal. I was so desperate to regulate it inwardly, to make it invisible to the outside.

OCD is not what many people think it is. Only 1.2% of the population suffer from it, and it is poorly understood and characterised. Paradoxically treatment for OCD is the opposite of any other anxiety disorder. Any reassurance or empathy encourages my obsessions. I am scared to face treatment as it is not going to be pleasant. As future healthcare professionals, I am sure it will be hard for us to face patients with this disorder and go against our instinctive empathy and known methods of comforting patients.