I looked it up today. I knew the “hypo” meant low but I didn’t have a clue about chondria until I googled around. Khondrios is cartilage, specifically that around the breastbone. Originally, hypochondria referred to a pain in the high stomach area, besetting women more than men, just a suggestion or so away from hysteria, or vapours, or somesuch.

In the beginning, hypochondria referred to an unnamed complaint at the bottom of the esophagus. Probably gastric reflux, I say. Probably due to feminine frustration. Understandable.

By the late 1600s it referred to a person who suffered from depression without an identifiable cause.

Last century the term assumed its job of describing a person who is overly interested in and worried about his or her health.

Why am I composing this post? That’s a legitimate question. Here’s the answer. I have been accused of hypochondria. True, the accuser was a beloved enemy, a close relative who will not be named at this time, but the term was declared, overheard by me, internalized for a bit, debated here.

I am not hypochondriacal. There’s a difference between being observant and being somewhat fascinated by an observed changed in oneself, or being pathologically preoccupied with one’s health. The truth is that I pay attention to my body and its messages more than do many of my friends. I enjoy very good health. So when something goes off, I notice it, I wonder about it, I give voice to the situation. That may be boring but it’s not dysfunctional.

So there.