The case has come to my attention of a young man who, for fear of taking
cold, remains in bed, with the windows of the room tightly closed and a
fire constantly burning. He has allowed his hair to grow until it reaches
his waist, he is covered with several blankets, wears underclothing under
his nightshirt, and refuses to extend his wrist from under the bed-clothes
to have his pulse taken.

Such faulty mental habits in minor degree are common. There are those who
will not drink from a bottle without first inspecting its mouth for flakes
of glass; some will not smoke a cigar which has been touched by another
since leaving the factory; some will not shake hands if it can possibly be
avoided; another pads his clothing lest he injure himself in falling. Many
decline to share the occupations and pleasures of others through fear of
possible wet feet, drafts of air, exhaustion, or other calamity. Such
tendencies, though falling short of hypochondria, pave the way for it, and,
in any event, gradually narrow the sphere of usefulness and pleasure.

No part of the body is exempt from the fears of the hypochondriac, but he
is prone to centre his attention upon the obscure and inaccessible organs.
The anecdote is told of a physician who had a patient of this type--a
robust woman who was never without a long list of ailments. The last time
she sent for the doctor, he lost patience with her. As she was telling him
how she was suffering from rheumatism, sore throat, nervous indigestion,
heart-burn, pains in the back of the head, and what not, he interrupted
her:

"Ah," he said in an admiring tone, "what splendid health you must have in
order to be able to stand all these complaints!"