Another trip to the Dentist..........Heck, I see my Dentist way more often than my Primary Care doctor. It's almost like were family. She always offers me choices, when it come to pain relief, and this time was no different, but how could I know she would offer me Betty?

Lip-Lock With Betty

As I was relaxing upon yonder bench
Eagerly awaiting, the arrival of that wench,
Who would soon be probing instruments, of exactitude and pain
Aiming for the pleasure center, deep within my brain,
She asked me - (with her sexy voice)
Dear sir, you can make a choice,
A cocktail shot, of sedatives and drugs
Or a lip-lock with Betty, and a couple of hugs,
Before I excavate and prod and poke
Some people like pain, and that's no joke,
So let me know, your pleasure, sire
Because the iron's hot and in the fire.

Well, I had secretly admired, dear Betty
That's for sure,
And a lip-lock with her, would surely, be the cure,
To any suffering, I might endure today,
Bring it on, my Dental Hygienist.........
I'm ready to play.

While Betty was plastered all over my lips
That Dental Hygienist, was sharpening her tips,
Preparing a target, from X-rays last week
She had an eidetic memory, and didn't need a peek,
At any old records, for this mouth of mine
She was just waiting her chance,
To scrape, buff and shine.

As usual, at the end of this pleasant recreation
The in-house Master Dentist, came to make her observation,
View the scene of the crime; the battle at the front
Go for the end-run, or settle for the punt,
The message that she offered, would be my walking papers
More emphasis on flossing, and fewer sweet-tooth capers.

Fibril_late;
3/29/09

It's kind of fun finding old writings. First, it brings back old memories. Second, it allows me to see, if my writing ability has changed much in 20 years. In this case; clearly not. In fact, I can see, I was a bit of a word-elitist, even way back then.

What I'm presenting here, are 5 poems, which I'll call, "Tri-City Stuff". That was in 1987-88, when I worked one year, at Tri-City Hospital, in Vista, California. I think there may be other writings from that year, but these are just some poems I discovered today, in box 92. This was a time, when "The Underside of Nursing" had yet to be created; these were mere seeds of psyche, fermenting in a warm dark place.

Let's have a go at it, OK?

1987 - 1988:

A Life of Leisure

Cathy, I regret
To inform you on this day,
That I'm leaving this establishment
And traveling on my way.

I assure, in all honesty
'Twas nothing said or done,
A valuable experience
Indeed, I thought it fun.

As nurses, none compare
To this crew, you deftly hired,
Believe me, when I tell you
I was professionally inspired,
So much, I stay awake now
While the night turns into day,
With such stimulating colleagues
I could choose no better way.

Which sums it up, I guess
The memories that I'll treasure,
Now, I'm heading for the mountains
To lead a life of leisure.

Fibril_late; 6/88


The Runner-Band Revolution

The rubber-bands were flying
Like bees about the hive,
It was war in CCU again
Will replacements, soon arrive?
The Chief is working overtime
A master of defense,
This war is getting on her nerves
She’s soon to take offense.

It’s been a long and hoary battle
With participants, too many,
To count the sundry causes
Of this infraction; are there any?
Who knows, who do we ask
Who do we hire, for this task?
Let’s find some folks, down in the city
To come together, in a committee,
To ask some questions and find some answers
Hire a task-force, of dirty-dancers,
Come on folks, let’s get professional
Have a seat in my confessional,
Pass a rumor, go for broke,
There’s a few of us
Who just can’t joke.

What the Hell
It’s been a lot of fun,
For a few of us
But, not everyone.

And........after all is said and done,
I’m glad we gave it
One good run.

Fibril_late; 1988


I’m Sure I’m Not Dead

Too cold, for the living
Just right for the dead,
Now I’m chilled to the core
I just want a warm bed.

Move over, people
And give me some covers,
I’m freezing, you heard me
It don’t mean we’re lovers.

How about some coffee
Or warm soup and bread,
I may look catatonic
But I’m sure I’m not dead.

Too late...........life is flashing
Like a sleigh, across the Arctic,
My boat just came in
And I finally parked-it.

Fibril_late; 1987


A Testing Ground

Can you believe this water-situation
Once again,
It makes me squirm to think about
The germs upon this pen,
Let alone, the creepy crawly things
That habitate this room,
You know, I think this water thing
Is a plot, to bring our doom.

For months, I have suspected
That the night shift is the place,
A testing ground for maniacs
That run the human race,
They think we will not notice
Because our eyes are almost closed,
And by the morning, what’s the difference?
......I don’t know, I must have dozed!

Fibril-late; 3/88


Queen of the Monitor


At night, there sits upon this floor
A wondrous person that guards the door,
And protects us all from dire doom
Yes, peace doth reign, when she’s in the room.

On the mighty scale, of worthless jobs
She’s at the top of all the slobs,
And a credit to members of her sex
She’s Queen of all the monitor techs.

So, roll out the carpet
She’s out in the hall,
Bow down to the queen
Or her axe will fall,
And she’ll torture you till
The morning sun rises,
Then you will understand
How her stories, have won prizes.

Fibril_late;
4/1988

Even when crisis strikes as close to home as a sibling, (perhaps, more inspiring), a poem leaps forth.

The Jury Is Still Out

I'm a little concerned
About the old coot,
His RCA occlusion
Nearly gave him the boot,
But that isn't all
He's not out of the woods,
He has a tight LAD
Compromising the goods.

An acute MI
After a great game of squash,
The jury is still out
Who won? 'Twas a wash,
For the gentleman in question
On court forty-two,
'Tis not the time to argue
Because it could have been you.

Despite the unexpected nature
Of the outcome or the score,
Our favorite plucky protagonist
Welcomes conflict, bring on more,
He's an honest, fiery competitor
Renowned at the D-A-C,
Watch-out; he's already making claims
"Convalescence, ain't for me".

His family, walks on gilded splinters
Nervous-Nellie's, in their right,
Poppa, had a heart-attack
A life-threatening, kind of fright,
And though he looks good on the surface
Who knows, what lies beneath,
They would rather, chuck the Squash games
To avoid,"Will and Last Bequeath".

It takes a while for the novelty
To wear, in this situation,
But it's an everyday occurrence
In the American heart-attack nation,
The Cardiology science
Is so advanced, to save your life,
But there's not a big enough Valium
To calm the kids and wife.

Fibril_late;
3/15/09

(* D-A-C; A Health Club)

About every 5 years I add another notch in the belt of Care-Plan contempt. With nurses thumping their chest about "evidenced-based" therapies and such, I have yet to see any evidence of the inquisitive eyeball, taking a close look at this ridiculous construct that we know as a "care-plan". And now that I've gotten it back on the cutting board, I feel better ranting about it.

Charged With Contempt

For 26 years I've held firm
Staunch with my solid beliefs,
That a number of nursing-care actions
Were created by big-headed chiefs.

I've scribed miles of ink in futility
Writing care-plans of meaningless platitudes,
Created by nose-lifting academics
Entrenched with their superior attitudes,
They tried to create a special language
To set us apart from the medical,
Too bad that they missed the whole point
Convoluted communication; (paranthetical).

I've known long and forever my radical views
Are considered seditious or more,
But who gives a crap about plan notes and such
Another tedious, tiresome chore,
And frankly, I have cause to worry
If summoned to read a care-plan in court,
To attempt to describe, with the crazy language of our tribe
They might charge me with contempt or selling short.

Fibril_late;
3/2/09

Here is an idea, that I thought would lead to a story about Bertha, but instead became another hue and cry, regarding the weighty issues of the day.

Buxom and Girth

Oh Bertha, with the buxom bosom
Had sepsis, pneumonia and shock,
To keep her alive, we infused 30 liters
Adding four-stone, yea, ad-hoc.

Each turn in the bed for her skin care
‘Twould take the muscles of 3 mighty nurses,
Pausing to share a reflection
And sort out their favorite curses.

With a gnashing of teeth and straining of spine
The three groaned in triplicate unity,
Knowing quite well if they busted their backs
The hospital would deny with impunity,
Claiming, we have the equipment
To help move dear Bertha around,
Instead we were rash, we hurried and gnashed
Now they’ll bury us deep in the ground.

Suffice to say, we nurses are tougher
From the keel-haul, we had this past decade,
Throw anything at us, and we will just cuss
We don’t succumb, to the brute or the blade,
Better to back Nurses, than Wall Street
Unlike a mortgaged account, we add worth,
Protect the nurses, the backbone of the workforce
In this arena of buxom and girth.

Fibril_late;
3/1/09