The Hypochondriac
“You’re such a hypochondriac,”
They say with a smirk
As they roll their eyes
I try to come up with lies…
But they just don’t see
The hypochondriac isn’t me
But that 12 year old child
Who nearly went wild
To see Mom lying in bed
Blood gushing from her head
Yet Mom smiled through her tears,
“I’m fine…don’t worry, my dear.”
It’s that little girl who grew
Not knowing what to do
Believing that it’s no lie
Mommy WAS going to die
MS was the monster
That Mamma couldn’t conquer
“Are you afraid I’m going to die?”
Mamma asked her one day
She couldn’t run away
So she gulped down the tears
As Mamma rocked away her fears
But never said it wasn’t so
Yes, she was going to go
After the broken legs and stiches
The garbled speech and twitches
The wheel chair and near misses
All the lopsided kisses
The choking and pain
The burial in the rain
I look at them and say….
“Yes, the hypochondriac is me
Now will you please set me free.”
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