The worried faces of my Mum and Gran peered down at me, both deathly pale and etched with fear. Cool hands gently mopped my hot and fevered brow; my eyes felt wobbly and full of grit and my laboured breath came in dry rasping gasps as I lay damply uncomfortable in my crib.
Just four years old, not understanding a small sentence spoken in an anxious whisper, yet overheard.
" She'll never mek owd bones Min." Then stored in memory banks deep within the subconscious.
A seed sewn in the darkness reaches slowly but surely towards the light, at last having glimpsed a pin point of comprehension, sends roots of paranoia shooting and spreading through the conscious mind gaining strength as they travel upwards and outwards through the brain, until finally they become a well established, all consuming plant called hypochondria.
How I wish I had never heard that anxious whisper!