Any scientist who works with parasites knows about the “matchbox sign.”

The scientist is contacted by a stranger, given a small container – like a matchbox – and asked to identify the organism inside.

But the matchbox is empty.

The “matchbox sign” is a clue that a person suffers from a mental illness called delusional parasitosis (DP). This means that a person imagines having a parasite infestation, but the parasites are not real.

Alcohol and drug abuse can trigger DP, but the cause of DP is often unknown. DP can be a symptom of a secondary mental illness like schizophrenia. It can also stand-alone in the mind of an otherwise rational person.

According to a paper published by the Society of Vector Ecology, a sad or stressful event can result in an episode of DP.

“One case involved the death of a pet dog, and another case involved a mother-in-law’s visit,” wrote the researchers.

Anyone who has seen Arachnophobia knows that creepy-crawly skin sensation, but the mind of a person with DP turns a normal phenomenon into a complicated delusion. People will DP will blame respiratory and intestinal pain on parasites. Skin lesions are common in DP patients who use needles or knives to try to dig out the parasites.

The cure

About once a month, Dr. Steve Nadler, chair of the Nematology Department at UC Davis, gets a call or e-mail from a person with DP who wants him to analyze parasite specimens.

This exchange puts Nadler in an awkward position – he wishes he could help the person, but he legally can’t.

“I always tell them that a professor at UC Davis cannot accept a specimen from a patient and make a diagnosis,” Nadler said.

Yet they keep coming to him.

DP sufferers often complain that physicians are ignorant of parasites – physicians don’t know enough to take parasite infestations seriously, they say. This frustration leads DP patients to contact parasite experts like Nadler.

While physicians do investigate parasites, the accusation by DP patients is partly true. Nadler said that when he worked in parasitology courses at the Louisiana State University Medical Center, the class spent several months on parasites. Many programs today spend only weeks. Contemporary physicians know less about parasites, and this can result in two problems: either they mistake DP for a true parasite infestation or they dismiss a real infestation for DP.

According to the report from the Society of Vector Ecology, “One entomologist reported a case where a client was told by her physician that she was mentally imbalanced only to discover that she was actually infested with scabies.”

Anecdotes like this show why DP sufferers are suspicious of traditional medicine. Unfortunately, the “alternative medicine” scene is often a source of paranoia, not help.

A “holistic and alternative medicine” journal called The Secrets of Robust Health published a six-page article on parasites, headlined “Silent Killers.” The article is riddled with enough scientific language to make false information sound true.

“As amazing as this seems, according to statistics eight to nine out of 10 of us are infected with parasites,” writes the journal editor.

There is no source for these statistics, but the writer is quick to describe how his friends all discovered worms in their poop.

While humans can be infested by parasites like tapeworms or scabies, infection rates in the U.S. are low.

There are real cures for DP, but getting patients to cooperate is difficult.

The delusion seems so real that a patient sees no need for mental help. In a review of DP cases, tropical medicine expert Randolph Wykoff described a woman who visited 103 physicians and one veterinarian because she thought she had parasites. All she really needed was a psychologist.

According to research by psychotherapist Wolfgang Trabert, if a doctor manages to get a DP patient to a psychologist, there is about a 60 percent rate of recovery.

The delusional biologist

A few years ago, Nadler was contacted by a retired invertebrate biologist from Santa Rosa who believed he had discovered a new microscopic lungworm. The biologist had taken hundreds of photos of the lungworms with a specially modified microscope. Nadler looked at the photos and thought the “worms” looked like small fibers, not animals.

The biologist had been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS). He thought the lungworm was connected to the condition. A parasite infestation would be a comforting delusion to help explain a mysterious illness like CFS.

Nadler hoped to use science to help the biologist see reason. Nadler ran DNA tests on the supposed worms and found nothing. Still, the biologist was convinced he had discovered a new species.

I talked to the delusional biologist to hear his side. He explained that the lungworm is not easily identified as a worm because it’s unique anatomy and outer cuticle makes it hard to extract DNA. The biologist was excited that his photos showed worm anatomy.

“The thing that stands out, that looks most like nematodes [worms], are the male reproductive structures,” he said.

Nadler said the photos are too blurry to show anatomy. The worm photos are like UFO photos: just blurry enough that the shapes could be anything. You could see a worm or a carpet fiber, depending on what you’re looking for. Unfortunately for the biologist, the scientific evidence does not point toward worms.

The biologist is a friendly, highly educated man, but his delusion isolates him from the scientific world he loves. He recently gave a talk at the University of Texas about his worm research, but his fellow scientists dismissed the microscope pictures and told him to come back with DNA evidence. The biologist couldn’t believe that they didn’t recognize the worm that he knew so well.

“Even my wife could see it,” he said, “and she’s not a trained biologist.”

MADELINE McCURRY-SCHMIDT had a dream once that caterpillars were crawling on her face. Freaky. E-mail her column ideas at memschmidt@ucdavis.edu.

So I finally started my New Year’s resolution last week. I realize it’s a month and a half after the fact, but my resolutions are always notoriously half-assed.

I tried to give up chocolate last year, but then Easter came and those evil Cadbury Egg commercials started airing. Needless to say, I cracked. The lame egg pun was unintentional.

So you’re probably wondering what pursuit I’ve taken up this year. Well, it’s nothing too exciting, so don’t get your hopes up. Seeing as I can’t give up chocolate, I decided to compensate by working out more. To be more accurate, I should say start working out in general.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not a terribly unhealthy person. When I get my Digiorno frozen pizzas, I make sure to get the Supreme ones with the frozen veggies. I also go to the ARC sometimes. I’m not saying I actually make it out of the ARC Starbucks and into the gym, so don’t get any crazy ideas. You have to admit, though – it takes some effort to get into the car, drive there and walk inside.

I’m also taking a badminton P.E. class this quarter. However, I’m 5-foot-10 so this basically consists of me planting myself in one place and flicking my wrist every now and then. I’m blessed with the reach of a Stretch Armstrong doll.

Basically, I decided it was time to try something more vigorous. To spare myself the embarrassment and shame of working out in front of my people, I opted not to go to the ARC. I also wanted to spare everybody the sight of me dying on some torturous machine. It was in everyone’s best interest. Instead, I decided to go to the gym at my friend’s apartment complex. She said it was nice and rarely frequented, and that was more than enough for me.

The first hitch in my plan came when I was getting dressed to go. I was missing a crucial item for my endeavor. This, my friends, was a sports bra. I wish I could say this wasn’t problematic, but for me, it was. All of my sports bras were back in my hometown where I was formerly an active human being.

My solution was to wear two tight tank-tops underneath a T-shirt and just see what happened. I realized this was a terrible, terrible mistake after about five minutes of being on an elliptical. (Note to self: When working out, you sometimes get warm. You will probably also emit moisture from your skin. Gross.)

Anyway, I met my friend at her apartment and we headed on over to the gym. There was no one in there and I was elated. My friend then turned the television to the Olympics, so we could both watch how much better people are at things than me. Awesome.

I walked over to an elliptical – something I haven’t been on in five years – and I plugged in the height, age and weight info it wanted. I typed in my weight, but accidentally punched in 0 for my age. The machine must have thought I was the fattest newborn ever. Maybe that’s why the workout was so hard.

I’d say the first eight minutes were all right, but then the stupid device started to elevate on me. I spent the next seven minutes trying not to die. To makes things worse, some jolly, balding man then trounced into the room. He parked himself on a bike right next to me and began peddling.

All was well and good until he started talking to me. He thought he was sooo cool because he could move his legs really fast and talk at the same time. I tried to communicate back to him, but all he got were inaudible words and some wheezes. I think he took the hint.

The workout ended with me peddling backward for 15 minutes. My legs were jelly at this point, so it didn’t quite work out. One was trying to go backward and the other was peddling forward. I ended up just awkwardly standing there. I took this as my cue to stop.

I’d say overall my first workout was a success. I felt pretty awful and my three shirts were soaked, so I’d say something was definitely accomplished. I’m confident I will make it back to the gym eventually. I just hope it’s before next New Year’s.

AMANDA HARDWICK needs some motivation. You can drop off some Odwalla bars for her at The Aggie or send her some encouraging words at aghardwick@ucdavis.edu.

The Internet is a wonderful place. It’s like having the world at your fingertips, no matter where you go. You can buy whatever you want, go wherever you want and talk to whoever you want.

For one 17-year-old teenager from Moscow, the Internet has become a playground. This kid created a website using existing technology to enhance the world of social networking. He called it Chatroulette.

You’re basically using the same tactics you’d use on a Vegas casino floor: Luck. Who will you stumble upon in this land of cyber?

Will you meet Mr. Right or just Mr. Right Now? Who knows? But one thing is certain in this land – all is fair in love and war.

In a matter of 10 minutes during my first Chatroulette experience, I came across not one, but three penises. All of which were being stroked by their owner. Yuck! We don’t need to see that, boys. Save it for the shower!

It’s a place where strangers become friends, where people learn about all corners of the world and where someone may meet the love of their life. But how can you have a conversation about life when you keep getting “nexted?”

Yup, if you’re not up to the standards of your fellow chatter, they will click on the “next” button. And – voilà – a different person will pop up on your screen. Just pray they don’t next you before you next them.

If you’re one of these addicted Chatrouletters who spend more time “nexting” than texting, I highly suggest leaving the romance at the door.

After conducting a bit of research on this website, some of the people just want to see some tits. People hold up pieces of paper with tally marks indicating how many boobs, penises and even smiles they’ve been shown. If you’re lucky enough to stumble across one of these, I would use caution when showing your junk.

Some turn these images into drinking games. I have been told people gather around a computer screen with a drink in their hand, and every time a penis comes on the screen, they have to chug. Man, if I was doing this the other night I’d probably be trashed.

Can you really start a relationship with someone you meet online? Especially on a site like Chatroulette? It’s possible, but I have my pros and cons.

Let’s start with the pros. It’s a great way to meet a lot of people at one time. You can spread your seeds and go on dates. Learn what you want and what you don’t want. Just try it for the free dinners.

Here’s an online success story: My dad has been with his girlfriend for almost five years and they met on Match.com. It’s a great way to meet new people. I wouldn’t want my dad going to bars to pick up women. So thanks, Match.com. You did me proud.

Now for the cons. Some of my friends have used Jdate.com – a site for Jewish singles to find their Mr. Lawyer and Mrs. Doctor. You meet guys and girls who ask for your picture before they ask for your name (how shallow). Sometimes they ask you for pictures of your feet. Maybe keep your fetishes to yourself?

It doesn’t matter if you meet someone at a bar, online or in class. It matters how you feel about the person and if he or she makes you happy.

So for all you obsessed Chatrouletters out there, keep on chatting and nexting. Who knows? Maybe that masturbating creep could be the love of your life. But I really hope not.

Just a word of advice: When using online social networking sites, please use common sense. Don’t give out personal information. You never know who’s on the other side of that screen.

ERICA BETNUN is still a bit traumatized from the penises. If you’d like to share your online dating stories, e-mail her at elbetnun@ucdavis.edu.