Google made me a hypochondriac.

Chills? Sore throat? Green toe?

Google knows what's wrong with you. Just type your questions into that handy little search bar, and you'll have technology-aided self-diagnosis in no time.

Cholera. Strep. Gangrene.

There, that was easy!

If life were a game of Oregon Trail, you might hear a few sad bars of music, and move on, leaving your fifth child Mary Sue who had succumbed to the disease behind by the creek bed.

In real time, however, you are left staring at a list of Web sites that all seem to predict your imminent death and destruction.

Stomach pain?

Tapeworm.

Yesterday and today I've typed in "chest pain right side hurts to breathe in."

Thanks to Google, reputable sites such as The American Lung Association, have informed me I could have tuberculosis, pleurisy, a pulmonary embolism, costochondritis or an anxiety attack.

You know, I may not have been having an anxiety attack before, but by the time I waded through that lists of diseases, I could definitely feel one coming on.

Another time, I noticed a strange rash on both of my elbows. Go ahead. Type "elbow rash" into Google.

Obviously, I had scabies.

As it turned out, I was merely allergic to the spray the graduate student housing staff had used to clean my couch. But by the time I had figured that out, I already needed a cure for my heart palpitations (started when patient read the word 'scabies.')

Thomas Gray once wrote, "Ignorance is bliss," and frankly, I couldn't agree more.

But, still, whenever questions arise, Google beckons. Does it have something to do with having a short attention span?

I know where I can find the answer...