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Doctor to patient: ‘I have good news and bad news. The good news is that you’re not a hypochondriac.’
Hypochondria is the only disease I haven’t got.
Inscription on a hypochondriac’s grave: ‘I told you I was ill.’
A man goes to his doctor and tells him he’s suffering from a long list of illnesses. ‘The trouble with you,’ says the doctor. ‘Is that you’re a hypochondriac.’ ‘Oh no,’ says the man. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve got that as well.’
Harry tells the doctor he thinks he has a rare fatal disease. ‘You wouldn’t know though,’ says the doctor. ‘If you were suffering from that disease you’d feel no pain or discomfort at all.’ ‘I know,’ says Harry. ‘And those are exactly my symptoms.’
‘There’s no need for me to come out to the house,’ says the doctor to a worried caller. ‘I’ve checked my files and your uncle isn’t ill at all, he just thinks he’s sick.’ A week later, the same caller phones back. ‘And how’s your uncle today?’ asks the doctor. ‘Worse,’ replies the caller. ‘Now he thinks he’s dead.’
He was such a hyponchondriac he insisted on being buried next to a doctor.
Mrs Smith is a hypochondriac and her doctor – fed up with her constant complaints about nonexistent illnesses – starts palming her off with a mild sedative to keep her happy. One day Mrs Smith complains of chest pains and is prescribed her usual treatment. However, this time the pain is real and Mrs Smith dies of a heart attack. The doctor hears this and is so upset he dies of shock. Mrs Smith and the doctor are buried in adjoining plots. Next morning, the doctor hears a tapping on his coffin. A muffled voice calls out, ‘Doctor, this is Mrs Smith! Do you have anything for worms?’
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