Hypochondriac Poem by C Richard Miles

There’s a niggle in my neck.
I feel like a nervous wreck.
I’ve a tickle in my throat:
I sound like a billy goat.
There’s a cracking from my knees
And that itching might be fleas
Or do you think that it’s
Something worse, like lice or nits?
Are they cold sores on my lips?
Did that trip cause gippy hips?
I am sure that I feel dizzy
And I’m getting in a tizzy
For my bounding, beating heart
Seems to stutter, stop and start
Whilst my ever-dimming eyes
Start to sting with several styes.
I’m worried about that wart
That I’ve went and gone and caught.
And I certainly sure I fear
I’m going down with diarrhoea:
I’ve a ghastly, gastric gut
And a funny, fungal foot
That I got from sweaty socks.
I’ve a dose of chickenpox
And a splinter in my thumb
And I hear a constant hum.
There’s a boil upon my bum
And my nether bits are numb.
Is there fur upon my tongue?
Is that wheezing from my lung?
I’ve a tingle in my toes
And a sniffle in my nose.
Now that’s a different issue –
Do you mind if I don’t kiss you?
I won’t throw this bad disease at you
I think I’m going to sneeze – Atchoo!
Can you hand me a clean tissue?
I really tried to miss you;
Thanks for saying, “Bless you.”
Sorry about the mess – you
Didn’t get to me in time;
Lucky you’re wearing lime!

And now I’m feeling worse –
Better fetch the district nurse
Or, in fact, for I’m no faker,
Better ring the undertaker.
But even then, I’m worried
That he won’t let me be buried
Because of what I’ve got:
It’ll taint the burial plot.

I sure I’ve got pneumonia
Or something even phonier,
So I’ll go and look it up
In my Family Doctor Book…

…It’ll certainly try to inform me
What bad bug’s got it in for me
From incipient Alopecia
And permanent Amnesia
(Doesn’t make me feel any easier –
I’ll opt for anaesthesia)
Through Bed Bugs, Clots and Dysentery.
Elephantiasis, Fits and Gout, I see,
Hives and Hysterectomy
(But it affects the other sex to me)
I’m too old for Infantile paralysis
But there’s Jet lag, Jaundice, Keratosis.
If I’ve got Leprosy with this cough,
If I blow too hard, will my nose dropp off?
And these phlegm and spots and sneezles
Must have been the start of Measles.
Mumps and Malaria, I’ll give a miss
And I’ll skip Necrotising Fasciitis
But Orchitis is raging in me
As are Parasites and Quinsy
And other things Rheumatic.
As I sift, so systematic,
Through the pages there before me,
Even though it starts to bore me,

I will start the S-word section
And resume my dire detection:
Is it Syphilis or Scurvy
In my Tonsils? (I’m now nervy)
Urethritis hurts like heck to me
But I won’t go for a Vasectomy.
Worms I’ve had, all my medical history.
X-Rays won’t solve my quizzical mystery
And after Yaws, I near the end
(It’s driving me around the bend)
With Zymotic and Zymurgy:
I must have got all kinds of lurgy…

…And I’ve now self-diagnosed,
Having read, as I supposed,
From the front, right to the back:
I’m a hypochondriac.