A good sick girl would never give up.
She pushes on in search of a cure,
working as if all depended on her.
“Not knowing beforehand” what she should do,
she moves doggedly from doctor to doctor
and test to test, would never rest
  except, of course when money is tight
  (which it always is). A good sick girl
  knows when to stop wasting her family's money
  on that which bears no fruit, the useless pursuit
  of miracle cures
    except, of course, for miracles
    that come from God. A good sick girl
    always seeks those, remembering Sarah
    who laughed at the angel. She adds her name
    to prayer rolls, requests heavy-handed
    administrations, repeatedly and in variety
      except, of course, when it's God's will
      that she not be healed. And then she'll yield
      her will to God patiently, knowing he
      will strengthen her back. She doesn't lack
She would never complain
  except, of course, to us,
  her true friends, her safe space—
  we answer with grace when she asks for help,
  never notice, as we drop off casseroles,
  her manicure, the craft she completed, though laundry
  stacks up and the children run wild.
A good sick girl looks clean and neat
for her doctor so he'll know
she's not wallowing, know she wants
to get well.
  But she mustn't look too neat
  or he'll doubt that she means it
  when she says she can't cope.
    Being good, she won't question
    the advice that he gives her,
    and proves her desire for healing
    with exact and detailed obedience
      except for when
      he's mistaken, which he often is. And so
      a good sick girl will research her symptoms
      herself, allow the guidance
      of Spirit and common sense,
        though she would never
        Google her symptoms, an obvious
        trick of the hypochondriac, proof
        of negative thinking, something she avoids
        like the plague (which she probably
        doesn't have, though she'll check).
Nor would she chase after quacks
and shamans of alternate therapies,
knowing it is a waste of her family's money,
a pitiful lack of faith—
  unless it's something God has led her to
  by putting someone right in her path like a drunk Laban—
  for example, that guy who helped Aunt Fern—
  now he's obviously got a God-given gift,
  and if she refuses to even give him a chance,
  she's being close-minded, just giving up,
and a good sick girl never gives up.