The Finger

Over the past ten years quite a few devices have entered the market to help people monitor their heart rhythm at home. Some of them are junk, others work pretty well, some are simple and others ridiculously complicated or too expensive. Personally, I have the AliveCor two finger device that works on Apple IOS or Android, and I have seen the latest iteration of the Apple Watch application which produces a spectacular single lead, real-time tracing. But, you have to have a $1000+ phone and watch, to use it. But over the years, I have discovered that my ability to do a finger palpation of a Radial artery, is as good as any of a variety of techy-devices.

Finger Patent

I should patent my index finger
As an A.Fib detector,
I'll get so much recognition
But that's just conjecture,
Because I'll be bought out
And my finger will be toast,
Device makers are scared of me
Regarding money; they want the most.

I read a lot of studies
Money is spent like crazy,
But I'm beginning to realize
Research vision is hazy,
Focusing on engineering
To make a convoluted machine,
While my Index Finger detector
Is better than anything you've ever seen.

I place my Right Index Finger
On Radial artery Right or Left,
Upstream from the thumb bump
In the anatomical cleft,
With gentle pressure I palpate
And feel the cadence of the beat,
Irregular rhythm is my specialty
And A. Fib is the treat.

After all, you do know
12-Lead ECG,
Is the industry standard
The Bible, the creed,
Required for billing
For codes ICD-9,
With my patented finger
I know I'll do fine.

I can imagine a future
With royalties flowing in,
A simple device that mimics my finger
A bluetooth gadget with spin,
Proving that touch is superior
To the usual scary machine,
There's bound to be a paradigm shift
"Give me the finger", if you know what I mean.

Itchy

Coronavirus vs. Aromavirus:
Sounds similar doesn't it? Well, listen up and I'll explain it all.
Also, this poem is not about me being itchy, but all about the play on words.

Sometimes at home
I have an attack,
I get itchy and red
On my hands and my back,
It seems to happen most often
When my wife does her cooking,
I wonder what could it be?
So now I am looking.

Is it a simple allergy?
A bush, bug, or tree,
Did I eat the wrong thing?
And now it's inside of me,
Was I bitten by a snake
Or some other kind of predator?
I’m searching the Journal of Medicine
And letters to the Editor.

Little raised red bumps
Itchier than heck,
It started on my torso
And now it’s on my neck,
Traveling down my legs
To the bottom of my feet,
I can’t possibly go to work
Until I’ve got this thing beat.

It’s springtime in our region
Could it possibly be a flower?
As a child it was grasses
That held the itchy power,
I was tested for Allergy
Revealing dander and Iris,
The doctor said, sonny
You have Aromavirus.

He told me, “Kid, wear a mask”
Not the Halloween type,
Beware of new plants
And more of that hype,
Plus, I was introduced
To some magical beans,
The first generation
Of Antihistamines.

In High School I discovered
The drugs had more potential,
If I took four or five of them
I felt existential,
If I added something more
I could channel Miley Cyrus,
Then I knew I had conquered
The dreaded Aromavirus.

That doctor was a trailblazer
Naming my condition,
Now it seems once again
There is a similar rendition,
So I’m filing a lawsuit
A play on words, this something new,
Corona sounds too similar
And compensation is due.

Oh, Pharmacist

This is a gathering of several Pharmacy themes, coming together into one poem. Naturally, ideas pooled from real experiences.

The Pharmacist is a special player
A fount of knowledge, not a soothsayer,
Can be sweeter than a Tasmanian devil
When conversations are on the level,
If discussing matters
Regarding toxic ingestions,
The Pharmacist poses
His list of questions,
What’s the body-mass index
Their age and gender,
Was this a single shot of heroin
Or an overnight bender.

There once was a Pharmacist named Maury
All caught up with his power and glory,
He sold dubious potions
And age reversal lotions
From the back of a busted down lorry,

At his job on San Juan Avenue
In the middle of the city,
Pharmacist Maury
Was sitting pretty,
He was controlling and ornery
If you know what I’m saying,
If I needed something STAT
He might start delaying,
Telling me fourteen other people
Are ahead of me in line,
“ But Maury, if we wait
This guy will be dead on the vine.”

I think working at night
He felt like King of the pile,
With the power to delay
Making us wait for a while,
And I could never figure out
How to play to his good graces,
Never saw the dude smile
Only his control-freak faces.

Other places that I worked
Pharmacists went on rounds,
To be part of the discussion group
Dicing kilograms and pounds,
And the best time to have a Pharmacist
Right at my side,
During a Code Blue situation
Before somebody died,
With that dude on hand
To dispense all those drugs,
Handling the conversions
And refilling our mugs.

Ya, those chaotic scenes
In the University setting,
Sounded like Billy-Bobs club
With everyone betting;
“Hey, pass me a lidocaine
No wait, make that two,
Plus three epinephrines
And an epidural screw.

But there were the times
At other hospital places,
No Doctor or Pharmacist
Arrived to show their faces,
Until the very last minute
A chance to do some billing,
Yep, someone gets paid
Even when there’s a killing.

A Pharmacist in the family
Well that would be handy,
He will know what I mean
When I ask for some candy,
Plus he can probably get it
For pennies on the dollar,
Or sneak them out of the shop
Under a starched linen collar.

Pharmacists are the second
Most trusted professionals,
Good Catholics each one of them
With a guaranteed confessional,
To absolve them of sin
Should they waver from their path,
Like bringing home candy
And cheating on their math.

Monkey Smart

At my previous healthcare organization, we were unionized and that truly is a good thing. However, the downside is, that the pay was divied out based on how many years of experience a nurse had worked. 0-5, 6-10, 11-15, 16-20 and beyond. That was the basis; not talent, motivation, effort, productivity, or even showing up. Regarding that last feature, I probably averaged 3 sick days per year and took a short vacation once a year. Bobby-Joe would call in sick three days a month, take four vacations, beg to be sent home when the daily hours dipped, refuse to keep up with medical knowledge and skills.........and still, if his years of service matched mine (and like me, hadn't killed anybody) then our evaluations were equal. Essentially, even a monkey could do this job.


Today I spent an hour
Shredding old papers,
Those yearly evaluations
The most worthless of capers,
Where the best of employees
Just get a pat on the back,
"Keep up the good work, Bob
You got everything on track".

The stupidity of it all
Is that even the flunkies,
Get paid the same level
Like we're a gaggle of monkey's,
Vying for sweet treats
Plush toys and balls,
Yep, every year is the same
As we bounce off the walls.