Why, do all my poems seem historical (or hysterical)? Because they are. I experienced a spinal-lumbar injury (at work) in September of 2000, that essentially ended my career (as it was previously understood).
I hung around my place of work for about 3 years, and then got acquainted with disability/retirement. What have I done since then?

I studied, tested and practiced a bit of Legal Nurse Consulting.
I studied at UC Davis and got a Certificate in Financial Planning. (sheesh, that was difficult!)
I studied Massage Therapy, and I graduate TOMORROW!!!!!!!!! This is where I belong. Along with the Registered Nurse, that I will always be.

My Massage Instructor, was getting ready to move on, but he hung around for just one more class.
Following, is my tribute to a fantastic teacher:

The Teacher

I've graduated
At last hurray,
The year went by
From then to day,
And it's more exciting
Than my previous time in college,
Where I got a grasp
On financial knowledge.

Way back then
3 years ago,
I was a stranded victim
Learning that I didn't know,
Enough to practice
On my HP-12C,
Financial knowledge
Was like Greek to me.

Along about, last summer
Craigs'list caught my eye,
I could study Massage Therapy
For a year, on the fly,
And right then I remembered
Where I was 3 decades ago,
Studying the rudiments of Touch therapy
Acupressure and Jin Shin Do.

I leaped at the chance
And chanced at the leap,
It didn't cost much and I wondered
Would the instructor be cheap,
But life is funny sometimes
It delivers unexpected,
The custom-ordered teacher
Arrives, as if directed.

I suspect the other students
Recognized him, as the best of teachers,
But if you've followed a similar path
There is another set of features,
Hidden beneath the surface
Known to those who traverse the same,
I know this teacher was directed
Am I worthy, to play in his game?

When the Guru or the guide
Intercepts the path you travel,
It's time to get your act together
Or for sure, it will unravel,
Because, so often they arrive
At our crossroads, of hesitation,
Where it's time to grasp the horns;
Accelerate and levitation.

The gratitude and thanks
Are sometimes difficult to convey,
Words seem shallow and so temporary
They come and go each day,
But the feelings of the heart
That are powered with the Shen,
I trust the Teacher can interpret this
These simple scribblings from my pen.

Fibril_late; 8/22/07
(aka: mojomassage)

I see myself as a chronicler of the secret thoughts of Nurses. Surely I am not alone with my devious interpretations about the berserkers in the hospital (aka, out of control and possible alien/outer space patients); right??? Actually, after reading this over 7 times, I might have been writing about a colleague. Who knows?

The Whiney Scale

On a Whiney scale, of one-to-eighty
Your score is really up there, matey,
You're irritating me, for sure
I'm wondering if, there is a cure.

In secret, I will be strategic
Then render you, a paraplegic,
I'll perform a tracheotomy
Combined with a lobotomy,
To complete this attack
Against irritation,
I'll administer
The best sedation.

I'm hoping this approach will endure
And I can claim a lasting cure.

Fibril_late; 1997

Another musical poem, set to the tune by the Beatles, "I'm A Loser".

I'm an Oozer

I'm an Oozer
I'm not what I appear to be,
I'm an Oozer
I'm bleeding out, oh, can't you see?

I had a cath
Then I bled
And almost died,
The doctor promised
Me the best
But he lied.

I'm an Oozer
My blood is dripping on the floor,
I'm an Oozer
My doctor's sneaking out the door.

If I should die
I will haunt
That S.O.B.
And I'll make sure
He won't forget
Poor, little me.

I'm an Oozer
I'm not what I appear to be,
I'm an Oozer
I'm bleeding out, oh, can't you see?

Fibril_late; 1998

There are times when a catastrophic event occurs (perhaps the latest rendition of "Code Blue" cardiac arrest) and the victim has about 13 intravenous lines, 7 medication drips, 4 invasive monitors, and there are 11 people in the room, including 5 who have no need to be there. That is when it is life-and-death crucial that you know exactly which IV-line is your "medication" line (and it's not dripping on the floor). Also, it helps if the vital-sign monitors are accurate too. Otherwise.............

Someone Dies

When you're reaching for the Lidocaine
The epi or the atropine,
The propane or the methane
Or maybe even gasoline,
The Wheaties or the Captain Crunch
The chocolate cupcakes for your lunch.

Be sure you check the vital signs
And ensure the patency of lines,
'Cause in the midst of great surprise
If you're not careful, someone dies.

Fibril_late; 1994

Central Line Changes

Central line changes
Are a mystical event,
A cosmic-three encounter
Undertaking to prevent,
The pitfalls of infection
That are monstrous in their scope,
Should you become a victim
There is little room for hope.

The success of this endeavor
Is an issue of sterility,
It takes a licensed person
And validation of virility,
To honor lofty spirit guides
Who safeguard this affair,
You must purify your conscience
And sanitize your hair.

Approach the hapless victim
Assure him with your poise,
Some folks respond to silence
While others love some noise,
Then don your gay apparel
And the dirty gloves of science,
Advance into the dressing zone
And attack with bold defiance.

The skin is red and puffy
The smell is overpowering,
A colony of yeast cells
Before my eyes are flowering,
Do I panic? No, I don't
I have faith in this technique,
This method is so powerful
When I'm done, the skin will squeak.

Silently I pray
To appease the Gods of Prep,
I've memorized the ritual
But review it step by step,
And secretly I offer
A gift to their account,
In turn they will agree
To reduce the colony count.

Right attitude and ritual
The strength that guides my moves,
Along the sacred path of prepping
In three concentric grooves,
Focused at the center
At the site of penetration,
The circles then get larger
As I prep with concentration.

I apply a sterile dressing
Then tape it with a passion,
While going to great lengths
To adhere to current fashion,
Because sloppy looking dressings
May reflect on my career,
The prep Gods might abandon me
If my Supervisor is near.

So, the changing of a dressing
Is like the changing of the guard,
If you follow the procedure
It isn't very hard,
And remember to placate
The Gods of sterile dressings,
They'll save the site and your career
And shower you with blessings.

Fibril_late: 1995

Never Say Dye

I went into the hospital
To have my vessels scraped,
I reacted to the dye, and now
My kidneys have been raped,
I admit the Doctor warned me
About some complication,
But he minimized the maximum
And now I've lost my urination.

The renal kidneyologists
Are studying my case,
I haven't peed for seven days
And I'm turning yellow in the face,
There's talk about a catheter
They could place into a vein,
To suck out all the poisons
And sudsidize my brain,
But frankly, I'll be honest
I don't trust this deadly trick,
So, I'm checking out tomorrow
Because I'm safer being sick.

Fibril-late; 1995

Breathless

It happened to her once before
The day she lost her breath,
We have a fancy term for that
We call it sudden death,
And her family searched around the house
But never found her air,
They had to call the factory
So she could have a spare.

Expectantly, she waited
With a grim look on her face,
Already made her mind up
That she'd leave the human race,
And, the factory delivered
Just a little bit too late,
Yes, that poor old breathless woman
Surrendered to her fate.

Fibril_late; 1994