I guess I could file this under the heading of, "Fibril_late's Believe It or Not". Clearly, it was a story begging to be told and thus...............out it tumbled!
Talk To the Ghost
What is the thing
That bothers me the most?
Unrelentless streams of visitors
Or the ever-present ghost,
Who rattles in the closet
And hides behind the curtain,
At times, I prefer the ghost
Over visitors, that's for certain.
I can talk to the ghost
He doesn't talk back,
He tries to throw ectoplasm
But his aim is out of whack,
Although he manages to frighten
The ones who see him not,
I guess I'm some kind of emissary
The only friend he's got.
Everywhere I've worked
There has always been a ghost,
I think he's a greeter for death
Like your friendly Walmart host,
Essentially, non-threatening
Offering his invisible, twisted smile,
A member of the welcome wagon
With his own peculiar style.
There have been she-ghosts
But they bear a different role,
As experts of duplicity
They come to recognize the soul,
Do an assessment of lifetime value
The good and bad and the duration,
Flip a coin and do the numbers
For the ultimate destination.
All in all, I count my blessings
For the role I chose to play,
There are wonderful people I work with
Each and every day,
And when relentless streams of visitors
Fray my nerves, like overcooked toast,
I can stick my head in the housekeeping closet
And talk to my friend, the ghost.
Fibril_late;
4/24/08
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
He was a mountain of a man, and now, he is a man beneath a mountain.
CPR Calypso
Billy-Bob Boiko
Was the father of the clan,
Well respected amongst his peers
He was mountain of a man,
Pound for pound, magnifico!
He was worth his weight in gold,
But each pound of flesh was killing him
He was prematurely old.
He denied his diabetes
He ignored the heart disease,
He smoked two packs a day, or more
You should have heard him wheeze,
But he claimed it was his allergies
He'd never been sick before!
While a shadow of death was hovering
Outside his bedroom door.
The family freaked when he had chest pain
And called a "9-1-1" emergency,
They screamed and moaned to the dispatcher
With overwhelming urgency,
The ambulance crew should have brought a hoist
Because Billy was immense,
They had to fabricate a gurney
From a neighbors redwood fence.
It was a terrific tale
Of sound and fury,
A rich, full life
Lived in a big, damn hurry,
Ignoring simple rules
Of pleasure and pain,
Fourteen dishes for dinner
And no alcohol refrain,
A boatload of dependents
As his life went down the drain,
When he flat-lined and keeled over
And left nothing but a stain.
He did the CPR Calypso
During the ambulance ride,
Clearly brain dead from anoxia
Oh how, his family cried,
They pointed fingers left and right
There was a thunderstorm of blame,
But underneath it all, I hope
They were floundering in self-blame.
They had unreal expectations
For the medical team that day,
They thought Billy-Bob would be revived
And he wouldn't have to pay,
Because that's the all-American dream
For any foreign son,
America, the land of the free
Should apply to everyone.
Billy-Bob Boiko
Is now a man beneath a mountain,
His pigeon-crap plastered statue
Sits in a dried up fountain,
His baby brother Besnik
Has stepped into his brother's shoes,
He tops the scales at four-fifty
Like there's nothing left to lose.
Fibril_late/ 4/17/08
CPR Calypso
Billy-Bob Boiko
Was the father of the clan,
Well respected amongst his peers
He was mountain of a man,
Pound for pound, magnifico!
He was worth his weight in gold,
But each pound of flesh was killing him
He was prematurely old.
He denied his diabetes
He ignored the heart disease,
He smoked two packs a day, or more
You should have heard him wheeze,
But he claimed it was his allergies
He'd never been sick before!
While a shadow of death was hovering
Outside his bedroom door.
The family freaked when he had chest pain
And called a "9-1-1" emergency,
They screamed and moaned to the dispatcher
With overwhelming urgency,
The ambulance crew should have brought a hoist
Because Billy was immense,
They had to fabricate a gurney
From a neighbors redwood fence.
It was a terrific tale
Of sound and fury,
A rich, full life
Lived in a big, damn hurry,
Ignoring simple rules
Of pleasure and pain,
Fourteen dishes for dinner
And no alcohol refrain,
A boatload of dependents
As his life went down the drain,
When he flat-lined and keeled over
And left nothing but a stain.
He did the CPR Calypso
During the ambulance ride,
Clearly brain dead from anoxia
Oh how, his family cried,
They pointed fingers left and right
There was a thunderstorm of blame,
But underneath it all, I hope
They were floundering in self-blame.
They had unreal expectations
For the medical team that day,
They thought Billy-Bob would be revived
And he wouldn't have to pay,
Because that's the all-American dream
For any foreign son,
America, the land of the free
Should apply to everyone.
Billy-Bob Boiko
Is now a man beneath a mountain,
His pigeon-crap plastered statue
Sits in a dried up fountain,
His baby brother Besnik
Has stepped into his brother's shoes,
He tops the scales at four-fifty
Like there's nothing left to lose.
Fibril_late/ 4/17/08
Sunday, April 13, 2008
I saw this bit of history in the chart of a 21 year old, who had been admitted for attempted suicide, that he had the diagnosis of "A.D.D.". By now, thanks to the psychological / pharmaceutical industry (and Dr. Phil), everybody knows this means Attention Deficit Disorder. However, what came to my mind, was how he had started out with ADD, and now, having tried to commit suicide, he had effectively tried to subtract himself from earth.
I knew immediately, that a poem was due to address this unique situation.
A.D.D. and Subtract
He started out life with A.D.D.
But he finished with subtract,
He claimed to be a well mannered fellow
But it was truly just an act.
He was a testament of early intervention
And a reservoir of latent potential,
A proud owner of classic presentation
While supplying the diagnosis differential.
He could prove to the average proud parent
That he was a child in need,
He qualified for therapies galore
And memorized the A.D.D. creed.
His mother learned the lingo and practiced for hours
She was a regular A.D.D. moxie,
Any seasoned professional of forensic practice
Could recognize Munchausen by Proxy*.
As his advocate for treatment and cheerleader for attention
This mother had a well rehearsed act,
But what started as textbook A.D.D.
Would metamorphose into classic subtract.
His old lady was clearly complicit
In the development of his mental condition,
Although psycho abuse indeed was the problem
He helped her by his own volition.
As a poster-child for A.D.D.
He learned about kiddee cocaine,
If you crushed the Ritalin and snorted it up
You could mainline it straight to your brain,
It was the rage among kids, in the friends that he kept
They laughed and called it Vitamin “R”,
It was cheaper than buying illicit drugs on the street
When you kept it at home in a jar.
The final chapter of this sordid, sad story
This miserable cretin lost hope,
After an alcohol binge, Vitamin R and cocaine
He finished life, at the end of his rope.
Fibril_late;
4/13/08
For an easy description of "Munchausen by Proxy", check the following link:
http://www.kidshealth.org/parent/general/sick/munchausen.html
(stay tuned)
Fibril_late;
4/13/08
I knew immediately, that a poem was due to address this unique situation.
A.D.D. and Subtract
He started out life with A.D.D.
But he finished with subtract,
He claimed to be a well mannered fellow
But it was truly just an act.
He was a testament of early intervention
And a reservoir of latent potential,
A proud owner of classic presentation
While supplying the diagnosis differential.
He could prove to the average proud parent
That he was a child in need,
He qualified for therapies galore
And memorized the A.D.D. creed.
His mother learned the lingo and practiced for hours
She was a regular A.D.D. moxie,
Any seasoned professional of forensic practice
Could recognize Munchausen by Proxy*.
As his advocate for treatment and cheerleader for attention
This mother had a well rehearsed act,
But what started as textbook A.D.D.
Would metamorphose into classic subtract.
His old lady was clearly complicit
In the development of his mental condition,
Although psycho abuse indeed was the problem
He helped her by his own volition.
As a poster-child for A.D.D.
He learned about kiddee cocaine,
If you crushed the Ritalin and snorted it up
You could mainline it straight to your brain,
It was the rage among kids, in the friends that he kept
They laughed and called it Vitamin “R”,
It was cheaper than buying illicit drugs on the street
When you kept it at home in a jar.
The final chapter of this sordid, sad story
This miserable cretin lost hope,
After an alcohol binge, Vitamin R and cocaine
He finished life, at the end of his rope.
Fibril_late;
4/13/08
For an easy description of "Munchausen by Proxy", check the following link:
http://www.kidshealth.org/parent/general/sick/munchausen.html
(stay tuned)
Fibril_late;
4/13/08
Thursday, April 10, 2008
OK, I admit it; once in a while, I get a vibe, that maybe, the poems that are written here at my site, might cause some fur to rise. But then I remember, hey, I'm anonymous. I'm "Princess Peanut" the cat. Meoww. Sure, I understand that I'm one of the few blessed cats on earth, that is the channel (we're talking spirits here) for a real human, aka, "Fibril_late". I can't reveal her/his name, because of course, they might get in trouble. Big, bad Meoww!
But the fact is, I can't help but obey the spirit.
Perhaps the following poem, might help out those fur-raisers:
Just Call me a Fool
I write about this
And I write about that,
But don't take it personal
Because that's not where it's at.
My attention is focused
On ideas and pain,
A loss of satisfaction
And ill gotten gains.
Crimes of humanity
And irritations of employment,
Shortening life spans
And a loss of enjoyment.
Policies and directives
From a corporate point of view,
Adversely affecting
All of me and all of you.
Freedom of speech
Just isn't my fortay,
Freedom of writing
Is where I earn my pay.
I won't use my words
To cause harm to another,
But I might use some terms
That are offensive to your mother.
And most of the time
I'll use humor as a tool,
And for all of the rest
Just call me a fool.
Fibril_late;
4/10/08
But the fact is, I can't help but obey the spirit.
Perhaps the following poem, might help out those fur-raisers:
Just Call me a Fool
I write about this
And I write about that,
But don't take it personal
Because that's not where it's at.
My attention is focused
On ideas and pain,
A loss of satisfaction
And ill gotten gains.
Crimes of humanity
And irritations of employment,
Shortening life spans
And a loss of enjoyment.
Policies and directives
From a corporate point of view,
Adversely affecting
All of me and all of you.
Freedom of speech
Just isn't my fortay,
Freedom of writing
Is where I earn my pay.
I won't use my words
To cause harm to another,
But I might use some terms
That are offensive to your mother.
And most of the time
I'll use humor as a tool,
And for all of the rest
Just call me a fool.
Fibril_late;
4/10/08
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
No words needed to describe this poem.
Double Casket
A foreigner to me
May be a relative to you,
It is clearly all about
Our particular point of view.
And when they're whacked out crazy
I'm about to blow a gasket,
If the both of us expire
We're going to need a double casket.
So my modus operandi
Is to be liberal with the drugs,
And my advice to family
"Could you give them lot's of hugs?"
Fibril_late;
4/9/08
Double Casket
A foreigner to me
May be a relative to you,
It is clearly all about
Our particular point of view.
And when they're whacked out crazy
I'm about to blow a gasket,
If the both of us expire
We're going to need a double casket.
So my modus operandi
Is to be liberal with the drugs,
And my advice to family
"Could you give them lot's of hugs?"
Fibril_late;
4/9/08
Sunday, April 06, 2008
This particular morning, I came home after "Round 2", of the wrestling match with a tag team of two sick foreigners. Something seemed to break; my knee, my back and my psyche. Luckily, I have 3 days off. Here is a telling of what didn't really happen.
Enjoy:
From Here to Dover
I am just another chap,
Who has lived through too much crap,
And I'm really getting sick and tired of it,
But the folks, where I hang out,
Love to fling it all about,
And most recently, I told that guy to shove it,
Now, I'm lucky no one heard,
That I flipped the guy, the bird
Or most likely, I'd have to pay some sort of fine,
But if you ask, was I surprised?
Have an inkling, or surmised,
I'd find myself, in ye olde Unemployment line?
Quite frankly, I was shocked
They were loaded, door was locked,
When I tried to come to work this very day,
They said, I'd really gone too far
This was a hospital, not a bar,
And consequently, you have no job, and get no pay,
At that moment, I was flippin'
I said, "Boss, you must be trippin'",
Why every Nurse, has horrid days like this and that,
But if you want to screw me over
I will sue you, from here to Dover,
And my attorney, will be the one who trims your fat.
Fibril_late;
4/6/08
Enjoy:
From Here to Dover
I am just another chap,
Who has lived through too much crap,
And I'm really getting sick and tired of it,
But the folks, where I hang out,
Love to fling it all about,
And most recently, I told that guy to shove it,
Now, I'm lucky no one heard,
That I flipped the guy, the bird
Or most likely, I'd have to pay some sort of fine,
But if you ask, was I surprised?
Have an inkling, or surmised,
I'd find myself, in ye olde Unemployment line?
Quite frankly, I was shocked
They were loaded, door was locked,
When I tried to come to work this very day,
They said, I'd really gone too far
This was a hospital, not a bar,
And consequently, you have no job, and get no pay,
At that moment, I was flippin'
I said, "Boss, you must be trippin'",
Why every Nurse, has horrid days like this and that,
But if you want to screw me over
I will sue you, from here to Dover,
And my attorney, will be the one who trims your fat.
Fibril_late;
4/6/08
Monday, March 31, 2008
Another hard-to-believe tale, that is filled with truth; really, just ask any Nurse!
Looking For Some Sturgeon
Now here's a strange phenomena
I've noticed o'er the years,
The gastroenterologist
Has stomach cancer fears,
And sure enough, before too long
He suffers bowel constriction,
Good golly gosh, I'm not surprised
He was a specialist of the affliction.
And then the neurosurgeon
Has a headache of grand proportion,
A nasty neuroblastoma
Has caused a brain distortion,
And the pain is so damned awful
Like a pterodactyl sting,
He takes a buzz-saw to his head
To eradicate that thing.
The saddest one most surely
Is the cardiology dude,
When the crushing pain and tombstone lines'
Begin to threaten his good mood,
He's inclined to pass the time away
Denying it's for real,
No Cardiologist worth his salt
Would accept such a lousy deal,
Alas, this can be fatal
Unless his family has some guts,
Accustomed to his attitude
They'll take no "ifs or buts",
And haul his sorry, dying ass
To the neighborhood cardiac surgeon,
He'll soon retire and buy a boat
And go looking for some sturgeon.
Fibril_late;
3/31/08
Looking For Some Sturgeon
Now here's a strange phenomena
I've noticed o'er the years,
The gastroenterologist
Has stomach cancer fears,
And sure enough, before too long
He suffers bowel constriction,
Good golly gosh, I'm not surprised
He was a specialist of the affliction.
And then the neurosurgeon
Has a headache of grand proportion,
A nasty neuroblastoma
Has caused a brain distortion,
And the pain is so damned awful
Like a pterodactyl sting,
He takes a buzz-saw to his head
To eradicate that thing.
The saddest one most surely
Is the cardiology dude,
When the crushing pain and tombstone lines'
Begin to threaten his good mood,
He's inclined to pass the time away
Denying it's for real,
No Cardiologist worth his salt
Would accept such a lousy deal,
Alas, this can be fatal
Unless his family has some guts,
Accustomed to his attitude
They'll take no "ifs or buts",
And haul his sorry, dying ass
To the neighborhood cardiac surgeon,
He'll soon retire and buy a boat
And go looking for some sturgeon.
Fibril_late;
3/31/08
Many will tell you that it's hell getting old. It certainly is when ye olde hollow husk disintegrates slowly. Nary a nurse looks happily forward to that kind of existence.
Here are some quick thoughts about meeting the ancestors.
I'm Going to Meet My Ancestors
I am hoping to meet my ancestors
Perhaps they'll come and get me,
To join my ancient family
If only they would let me.
I'm old and feeble and misunderstood
And commonly feel alone,
But I have limited capacity
To make my wishes known.
I'm going to meet my ancestors
It's so painful being sick,
I've called my long dead family
To get me soon and quick,
They left so very long ago
But finally it's my chance,
I'm going to party with my relatives
And do the death-march dance.
Oh look, I see my ancestors
They are waiting at the door,
They've come to take me sailing
Yes, my boat is at the shore,
I don't need a life-preserver
Nor a compass for this trip,
I am ready for my maiden voyage
As the captain of my ship.
Fibril_late;
3/31/08
Here are some quick thoughts about meeting the ancestors.
I'm Going to Meet My Ancestors
I am hoping to meet my ancestors
Perhaps they'll come and get me,
To join my ancient family
If only they would let me.
I'm old and feeble and misunderstood
And commonly feel alone,
But I have limited capacity
To make my wishes known.
I'm going to meet my ancestors
It's so painful being sick,
I've called my long dead family
To get me soon and quick,
They left so very long ago
But finally it's my chance,
I'm going to party with my relatives
And do the death-march dance.
Oh look, I see my ancestors
They are waiting at the door,
They've come to take me sailing
Yes, my boat is at the shore,
I don't need a life-preserver
Nor a compass for this trip,
I am ready for my maiden voyage
As the captain of my ship.
Fibril_late;
3/31/08
Friday, March 28, 2008
Deja Vu all over again. Yup, I'm reliving every flippin' nursing experience that I ever had, all over again, one-by-one. Last night it was the "Ketoacidosis, Bipolar, immature, positive drug history, non-compliant, adult-in-childs-clothing, whoops I didn't use my insulin for a week", individual.
I was a party to all of the emotions and behaviors associated with each disturbance. I really can't begin to tell you how much fun I had, (so I won't bother). However, let me share with you what it might feel like, if you were to be picked to be the nurse for that kind of patient, over and over again.
First, here is the cartoon: A wonderful quote from my favorite humorist, George Carlin:
In Rome, the emperor sat in a special part of the Coliseum known as the Cesarean section.
George Carlin, Brain Droppings (1997)
Thank you; and now for the main attraction:
One Nutcase, Too Many
Sometimes I feel like
There's a target on my butt,
It says, "Give him the patient
Who is whacked out of their nut",
Or maybe, I'm wearing
The hat with the logo,
It reads, "Welcome all zombies
From the Whisky a’ Go Go
Whatever the reason
The cause, or the blame,
What to me, is a conspiracy
To others, is a game.
There is probably a lottery
Going on behind my back,
To name the hours and minutes
Wagering when I will crack,
Where I go running and screaming
Yes, totally ballistic,
One nutcase, too many
And now I'm just a statistic.
Fibril_late;
3/28/09
I was a party to all of the emotions and behaviors associated with each disturbance. I really can't begin to tell you how much fun I had, (so I won't bother). However, let me share with you what it might feel like, if you were to be picked to be the nurse for that kind of patient, over and over again.
First, here is the cartoon: A wonderful quote from my favorite humorist, George Carlin:
In Rome, the emperor sat in a special part of the Coliseum known as the Cesarean section.
George Carlin, Brain Droppings (1997)
Thank you; and now for the main attraction:
One Nutcase, Too Many
Sometimes I feel like
There's a target on my butt,
It says, "Give him the patient
Who is whacked out of their nut",
Or maybe, I'm wearing
The hat with the logo,
It reads, "Welcome all zombies
From the Whisky a’ Go Go
Whatever the reason
The cause, or the blame,
What to me, is a conspiracy
To others, is a game.
There is probably a lottery
Going on behind my back,
To name the hours and minutes
Wagering when I will crack,
Where I go running and screaming
Yes, totally ballistic,
One nutcase, too many
And now I'm just a statistic.
Fibril_late;
3/28/09
Monday, March 24, 2008
Over the years I have written often about excrement. And here I am, less than two months into my reincarnated career and I find myself knee-deep in the slimy stuff again. Sheesh, nothing ever changes (at least in that territory). What has changed is the.....................
The Arc of Ejection
Bowel movements times four
And Urostomy leak,
Do I dare disturb the bedclothes
And venture a peek?
It's been a long night
Of cleaning up crap,
Patients lying on their sides
Try to launch it in my lap,
And I covered that topic
Must be 15 years past,
But nothing has changed
They have to crap, really fast.
Fifteen years later, and
What is the matter?
The crap is the same
But the clients are fatter,
The arc of ejection
Has increased in proportion,
The pattern of splatter
Is one of distortion,
And along with my age
And my weary old bones,
I don't leap, hop or scamper
Without a few groans,
As I seek to escape
The crap launched my way,
And I ponder again
About the terms of my pay,
But then I recall
My oath, Hippocratic,
You fool, you’re a nurse!
This crap is automatic.
Fibril_late;
3/24/08
The Arc of Ejection
Bowel movements times four
And Urostomy leak,
Do I dare disturb the bedclothes
And venture a peek?
It's been a long night
Of cleaning up crap,
Patients lying on their sides
Try to launch it in my lap,
And I covered that topic
Must be 15 years past,
But nothing has changed
They have to crap, really fast.
Fifteen years later, and
What is the matter?
The crap is the same
But the clients are fatter,
The arc of ejection
Has increased in proportion,
The pattern of splatter
Is one of distortion,
And along with my age
And my weary old bones,
I don't leap, hop or scamper
Without a few groans,
As I seek to escape
The crap launched my way,
And I ponder again
About the terms of my pay,
But then I recall
My oath, Hippocratic,
You fool, you’re a nurse!
This crap is automatic.
Fibril_late;
3/24/08
Sunday, March 16, 2008
It was as I thought; if I went back to work, I would be inundated with a review of topics that I probably wrote about in the past, but now I'm 10-15 years older, and I might possibly have a new perspective. Well, actually I have the same perspective, I just write a little different.
Suicidal
Nineteen years old
With suicidal ideation,
After seven years
Of self-induced degradation,
Popping pills and whatnot
In the name of “I hate me“,
Abusing all who care
I'll drag them down, just wait and see.
Nineteen years old
Whining, wailing, look at me,
Don't you know I was abused
And now my life is misery,
I'll keep trying to kill myself
Because, you know, I want to die,
As soon as I leave your care
I guarantee, another try.
Nineteen years old
What a waste, I say,
I'll care for you tonight
But tomorrow is another day,
Where you'll get the opportunity
To look your sorry self in the eye,
But tonight I'm going to tell you
You're just too weak to die.
Nineteen years old
And you've wasted seven years,
Nobody gives a crap
About your story of abuse and fears,
Your life is really easy
No working, school or tasks,
You just lay around and whistle
Through all of your phony masks.
Nineteen year old persons
I've seen paralyzed and more,
They didn't wallow in their misery
They were wheeling out the door,
With active minds and iron wills
They weren't whining, oh, poor me,
They weren't dreaming about their suicide
On Wednesday, at three-forty-three.
Nineteen years old
You need to begin the day and say,
Whatever happened to me before
Is ancient history and just the old way,
I have one choice, about moving forward
Each day is a fresh new start,
Those who care about me will do so
No matter if I depart,
But they are locking their doors
Watching to see where I will head,
Will I choose to be alive and live again
Or take the easy way out, and be dead.
Fibril_late;
3/16/08
Suicidal
Nineteen years old
With suicidal ideation,
After seven years
Of self-induced degradation,
Popping pills and whatnot
In the name of “I hate me“,
Abusing all who care
I'll drag them down, just wait and see.
Nineteen years old
Whining, wailing, look at me,
Don't you know I was abused
And now my life is misery,
I'll keep trying to kill myself
Because, you know, I want to die,
As soon as I leave your care
I guarantee, another try.
Nineteen years old
What a waste, I say,
I'll care for you tonight
But tomorrow is another day,
Where you'll get the opportunity
To look your sorry self in the eye,
But tonight I'm going to tell you
You're just too weak to die.
Nineteen years old
And you've wasted seven years,
Nobody gives a crap
About your story of abuse and fears,
Your life is really easy
No working, school or tasks,
You just lay around and whistle
Through all of your phony masks.
Nineteen year old persons
I've seen paralyzed and more,
They didn't wallow in their misery
They were wheeling out the door,
With active minds and iron wills
They weren't whining, oh, poor me,
They weren't dreaming about their suicide
On Wednesday, at three-forty-three.
Nineteen years old
You need to begin the day and say,
Whatever happened to me before
Is ancient history and just the old way,
I have one choice, about moving forward
Each day is a fresh new start,
Those who care about me will do so
No matter if I depart,
But they are locking their doors
Watching to see where I will head,
Will I choose to be alive and live again
Or take the easy way out, and be dead.
Fibril_late;
3/16/08
Monday, March 10, 2008
I clearly missed out on a few "new" things in the past 7 years, away from the bedside. Maybe others did too.
Are you subject to the whole JCAHO "communication" directive regarding the SBAR acronym (Situation, Background, Assessment, Recommendation)? Everybody and their brother seems to have had to start reporting that way, or something similar, I guess. Well, it reminded me a heck of a lot of the old FUBAR acronym, which I'm sure many of you know to mean, Fu**ed Up Beyond All Repair. SBAR looks almost like that, right? Well, I sure thought so. And the following poem spells it out pretty clearly.
SBAR vs. FUBAR
I merely left the bedside
For seven short years,
But naturally I wondered
How I'd fit in with my peers,
I need worry not
They are stellar professionals,
But the workplace is different
Thanks to Jayco Congressionals.
Leave it to the Joint Commission
To give rules of communication,
They say it's all about patient safety
But it's more like approbation,
And another thing about it
Is the acronym, or name,
Just trying to pronounce SBAR
Those executives put us to shame.
Situation and Background
Assessment and Recommendation,
Up to five syllable words
Clearly testing my mentation,
Is this some kind of experiment
Are we rehearsing for the future?
If there is a threat of a lawsuit
Can we repair it with a suture?
But my greatest concern
Is with the choice of the acronym,
Having an Engineering background
It sounds like our marching hymn,
FUBAR was our mantra
It covered any possible disaster,
Fu**ed Up Beyond All Repair
Was our answer, to the master.
I know, that I possibly shocked you
But the world is a wretched place,
There are times at the hospital
When all Hell breaks loose
And the SBAR just flies in your face,
And I suspect that some members of Jayco
Were laughing while gasping for air,
Knowing the true meaning of SBAR;
Screwed Beyond All Repair.
Fibril_late;
3/10/08
Are you subject to the whole JCAHO "communication" directive regarding the SBAR acronym (Situation, Background, Assessment, Recommendation)? Everybody and their brother seems to have had to start reporting that way, or something similar, I guess. Well, it reminded me a heck of a lot of the old FUBAR acronym, which I'm sure many of you know to mean, Fu**ed Up Beyond All Repair. SBAR looks almost like that, right? Well, I sure thought so. And the following poem spells it out pretty clearly.
SBAR vs. FUBAR
I merely left the bedside
For seven short years,
But naturally I wondered
How I'd fit in with my peers,
I need worry not
They are stellar professionals,
But the workplace is different
Thanks to Jayco Congressionals.
Leave it to the Joint Commission
To give rules of communication,
They say it's all about patient safety
But it's more like approbation,
And another thing about it
Is the acronym, or name,
Just trying to pronounce SBAR
Those executives put us to shame.
Situation and Background
Assessment and Recommendation,
Up to five syllable words
Clearly testing my mentation,
Is this some kind of experiment
Are we rehearsing for the future?
If there is a threat of a lawsuit
Can we repair it with a suture?
But my greatest concern
Is with the choice of the acronym,
Having an Engineering background
It sounds like our marching hymn,
FUBAR was our mantra
It covered any possible disaster,
Fu**ed Up Beyond All Repair
Was our answer, to the master.
I know, that I possibly shocked you
But the world is a wretched place,
There are times at the hospital
When all Hell breaks loose
And the SBAR just flies in your face,
And I suspect that some members of Jayco
Were laughing while gasping for air,
Knowing the true meaning of SBAR;
Screwed Beyond All Repair.
Fibril_late;
3/10/08
Back in the gay old '90's, I wrote frequently about a local hospital system that was suffering through the throes of "redesign". They had adopted some sort of chest-thumping, corporate blah-blah, best-practice BS, that was going to save money, garner applause and launch them fiscally solid, into the 21st century. I think it went hand-in-hand with all the excitement of Managed Care. Fade to the future:
Now, they are heralding a "communication tool", with the acronym of AIDET - Acknowledge, Introduce, Duration, Explanation and Thank You.
I have since learned it is the brainchild of one, Quint Studer (www.studergroup.com), who at his own website claims, he is one of the "Top 100 Most Powerful People" identified by Modern Healthcare. Apparently, he's also famous for his "Five Pillar" approach to achieving operational excellence, goal setting and measuring progress under service, people, quality, finance, and growth.
It's all a smoking pile of feel-good, smiley-face, top-a-the-mornin'-to-ya, remember my good name on your patient satisfaction form, best hospital in town, front and back door advertising. For Nurses, who have already racked up 20+ years of loyal, back-breaking service to humanity, it all seems a little like heavy-duty glad-handing.
Therefore, I was assigned by my society to speak for all of us.
At the End of the Day
Until you've learned your AIDET
You haven't really made it,
Acknowledge their name
At the threshold door,
Introduce yourself
(Try not to bore),
Define the time
Of the things you'll do,
Explain, entertain
Educate them too,
At the end of the day
When you're on your way,
Say, thanks for the fun
Now, what about my pay?
Fibril-late;
3/10/08
Now, they are heralding a "communication tool", with the acronym of AIDET - Acknowledge, Introduce, Duration, Explanation and Thank You.
I have since learned it is the brainchild of one, Quint Studer (www.studergroup.com), who at his own website claims, he is one of the "Top 100 Most Powerful People" identified by Modern Healthcare. Apparently, he's also famous for his "Five Pillar" approach to achieving operational excellence, goal setting and measuring progress under service, people, quality, finance, and growth.
It's all a smoking pile of feel-good, smiley-face, top-a-the-mornin'-to-ya, remember my good name on your patient satisfaction form, best hospital in town, front and back door advertising. For Nurses, who have already racked up 20+ years of loyal, back-breaking service to humanity, it all seems a little like heavy-duty glad-handing.
Therefore, I was assigned by my society to speak for all of us.
At the End of the Day
Until you've learned your AIDET
You haven't really made it,
Acknowledge their name
At the threshold door,
Introduce yourself
(Try not to bore),
Define the time
Of the things you'll do,
Explain, entertain
Educate them too,
At the end of the day
When you're on your way,
Say, thanks for the fun
Now, what about my pay?
Fibril-late;
3/10/08
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
I was thinking about how so many "professional caregivers", such as Nurses, Doctors and many others in the broad spectrum of those who attend to the health-care needs of humanity, commonly overwork themselves way beyond what might be expected of them.
My impression, both as one who has led the life, and also observed many of my colleagues, is that most of the time, we are doing it for others. Sure, once in a while, we're chasing the $ because we want the new car, or the Costa Rica vacation and so on, but really, it's almost always because we are the caregivers in our own personal sphere of influence.
We can earn some major cash, working overtime. If our spouse is just an average wage-earner, heck, we might be pulling down $1000 a day, for a little extra work. So naturally, all eyes look to us and open palms extend our way, and since it is our very nature to care, we just knock down a few more hours. Well, it's a slippery slope into oblivion, substance abuse, auto accidents, suicide and other similar miseries.
I call it:
Our Fountain of Giving
Regarding professional caregivers
Overworked, burned-out, and dedicated,
Performing with such depth of compassion
Commonly coping, self-medicated,
Amidst an over-capacity workload
They perform at the peak of their prime,
Look closely, it's not selfish fulfillment
It's for somebody else, every time.
Each one of us dedicated professionals
Came to our path, perhaps fated,
Like genetics, or family predisposition
A long history, to be traced, carbon-dated,
We often suffer, from a primitive condition
Where we overlook our own precious needs,
Eventually we crash, torn asunder and maimed
And suddenly everyone bleeds.
Because, attached to each one of these professional caregivers
There's a long line of benefited receivers,
They depend on our fountain of giving
We’re their God, and they’re the believers,
But even a God needs to rest
And that is the sober reality,
The ongoing demands of those persons
Deplete our very essence of vitality.
Premature retirement, disabled or dead
Is often the path that we follow,
Many caregivers are completely depleted
Their mortal remains are but hollow,
Left by the wayside of existence
Empty shells, that once held a precious light,
A dedicated professional, drifting off in the mist
Succumbs to the quiet of night.
Fibril_late;
3/5/08
My impression, both as one who has led the life, and also observed many of my colleagues, is that most of the time, we are doing it for others. Sure, once in a while, we're chasing the $ because we want the new car, or the Costa Rica vacation and so on, but really, it's almost always because we are the caregivers in our own personal sphere of influence.
We can earn some major cash, working overtime. If our spouse is just an average wage-earner, heck, we might be pulling down $1000 a day, for a little extra work. So naturally, all eyes look to us and open palms extend our way, and since it is our very nature to care, we just knock down a few more hours. Well, it's a slippery slope into oblivion, substance abuse, auto accidents, suicide and other similar miseries.
I call it:
Our Fountain of Giving
Regarding professional caregivers
Overworked, burned-out, and dedicated,
Performing with such depth of compassion
Commonly coping, self-medicated,
Amidst an over-capacity workload
They perform at the peak of their prime,
Look closely, it's not selfish fulfillment
It's for somebody else, every time.
Each one of us dedicated professionals
Came to our path, perhaps fated,
Like genetics, or family predisposition
A long history, to be traced, carbon-dated,
We often suffer, from a primitive condition
Where we overlook our own precious needs,
Eventually we crash, torn asunder and maimed
And suddenly everyone bleeds.
Because, attached to each one of these professional caregivers
There's a long line of benefited receivers,
They depend on our fountain of giving
We’re their God, and they’re the believers,
But even a God needs to rest
And that is the sober reality,
The ongoing demands of those persons
Deplete our very essence of vitality.
Premature retirement, disabled or dead
Is often the path that we follow,
Many caregivers are completely depleted
Their mortal remains are but hollow,
Left by the wayside of existence
Empty shells, that once held a precious light,
A dedicated professional, drifting off in the mist
Succumbs to the quiet of night.
Fibril_late;
3/5/08
Monday, February 25, 2008
For a friend undergoing a terrifying health dilemma; kind of a review of old times.
Back In The Day
Certainly,
There were times we had
Some were good and
Some were bad,
Plenty of laughter
Back in the day,
Hanging out with
Uncle Jay,
Taking trips
On a wing and a dollar,
Years of study
From High School to scholar,
Then somewhere, someday
Fragments coalesce,
The chaos of life
Is no longer a mess,
The answer seems startling
Why, it took so long to know,
That all the pieces were important
In this emotion picture show.
Fibril_late;
2/25/08
Back In The Day
Certainly,
There were times we had
Some were good and
Some were bad,
Plenty of laughter
Back in the day,
Hanging out with
Uncle Jay,
Taking trips
On a wing and a dollar,
Years of study
From High School to scholar,
Then somewhere, someday
Fragments coalesce,
The chaos of life
Is no longer a mess,
The answer seems startling
Why, it took so long to know,
That all the pieces were important
In this emotion picture show.
Fibril_late;
2/25/08
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I started working again. In a hospital at that. In a busy ICU. Still on orientation (scraping the rust off, as my stellar preceptor says) and just a couple days into it, I have my first poem. It's an updated view on the thrills and chills of Kaexalate therapy. I don't know what stinks worse; the treatment, or my rhyming.
Kaexalate, Revisited
Kaexalate is rarely
Shared upon a date,
Kaexalate commonly
Will seal your fate.
Kaexalate, is best taken
Like a shot of nasty medicine,
Make reservations with a restroom
Your shit will soon jettison.
You can always tell your visitors
That your afternoon will be busy,
You can say you're writing a thesis
On the lyrics of Thin Lizzy,
They may look at you strangely
But probably won't query,
The very idea of that endeavor
To the novice, sounds scary.
Kaexalate is best taken
Shaken, or even stirred,
The smoother it goes down
The more slippery the turd,
It's better than Ex-lax
Or cod liver oil,
It eliminates work
And fertilizes soil.
The user will discover
The need for ventilation,
Because Kaexalate promotes
Rapid evacuation,
Of the immediate area
Of all personnel,
A Kaexalate dump
Carries a frightening smell.
And finally, heed my warning
It's best taken in the morning;
'Cause if you wait till lunch
Or afternoon,
You'll be on the toilet
With the rising moon.
Fibril_late;
2/20/08
Kaexalate, Revisited
Kaexalate is rarely
Shared upon a date,
Kaexalate commonly
Will seal your fate.
Kaexalate, is best taken
Like a shot of nasty medicine,
Make reservations with a restroom
Your shit will soon jettison.
You can always tell your visitors
That your afternoon will be busy,
You can say you're writing a thesis
On the lyrics of Thin Lizzy,
They may look at you strangely
But probably won't query,
The very idea of that endeavor
To the novice, sounds scary.
Kaexalate is best taken
Shaken, or even stirred,
The smoother it goes down
The more slippery the turd,
It's better than Ex-lax
Or cod liver oil,
It eliminates work
And fertilizes soil.
The user will discover
The need for ventilation,
Because Kaexalate promotes
Rapid evacuation,
Of the immediate area
Of all personnel,
A Kaexalate dump
Carries a frightening smell.
And finally, heed my warning
It's best taken in the morning;
'Cause if you wait till lunch
Or afternoon,
You'll be on the toilet
With the rising moon.
Fibril_late;
2/20/08
Monday, February 04, 2008
Getting old; some people feel as though every year brings about the loss of another freedom. One of the most difficult to let go, is the freedom to drive a car.
Old Driver Blues
When I do my shopping
I drive into town,
The people in the streets
Look at me and frown,
The other drivers are terrible
They get in my way,
Why, the streets were much safer
Back in my day.
I've been driving
For something like 70 years,
Now it makes me so nervous
Unless I've had a few beers,
Because everyone else
Drives so gosh darn fast,
Like they're racing to the future
While I dwell in the past.
These new-fangled cars
Have so many dang buttons,
I think the kids of today
Are technological gluttons,
And by the time I have learned
What all of them are,
Ten years have gone by
And I need a new car.
I know some day I'll have to
Get someone else to drive,
But I swear to you now
Not while I'm alive,
I'm an independent man
And I'll have no drivin' slave,
I'll be behind the wheel
Till they drop me in my grave.
Fibril_late;
1997
Old Driver Blues
When I do my shopping
I drive into town,
The people in the streets
Look at me and frown,
The other drivers are terrible
They get in my way,
Why, the streets were much safer
Back in my day.
I've been driving
For something like 70 years,
Now it makes me so nervous
Unless I've had a few beers,
Because everyone else
Drives so gosh darn fast,
Like they're racing to the future
While I dwell in the past.
These new-fangled cars
Have so many dang buttons,
I think the kids of today
Are technological gluttons,
And by the time I have learned
What all of them are,
Ten years have gone by
And I need a new car.
I know some day I'll have to
Get someone else to drive,
But I swear to you now
Not while I'm alive,
I'm an independent man
And I'll have no drivin' slave,
I'll be behind the wheel
Till they drop me in my grave.
Fibril_late;
1997
Now that Obesity has been declared an epidemic, I guess I can cast all caution to the wind, and spell it like I see it.
Fat and Shortening
Something needs to be written
But dare I be the one to do it,
There's a backlash in society
For those who like to chew it,
There are over-eaters clubs
And natural shape coaches,
Big and husky clothing shops
And a hundred other approaches,
To address the significant fact
That many of us are overweight,
But if you don't do something about it
You're making a heart attack date.
There are a hundred easy reasons
Why we add the extra fat,
To insulate insecurity
Ninety-nine more than that,
But whatever your excuse
You better look it in the eye,
Twenty percent over your ideal body weight
And you're shortening your time to die.
In these days of over-sensitivity
Politically correcting any sort of verbal affront,
You can barely talk about the human condition
Without becoming the victim of a witch hunt,
Just look at the language we have formulated
To talk about what we are thinking,
Weight challenged with adolescent appetites
While the ground under us is sinking.
Now I know, I'll be attacked for my stance
An inflammatory response is just around the bend,
My teeth are crooked and my hair is falling out
But I don't think it will kill me in the end,
I'm thinking I ought to throw this away
But obesity is fat and we know it,
It's one of those challenges that stands right out
If you're as big as a house, you will show it.
I agree that all of the media hype
About biceps, abs and buns,
May cause the hopeless fatty's to commit suicide
Or seek murder, mayhem and guns,
But it isn't OK to condone it
In the context of feelings and disposition,
There are far reaching medical consequences
For the rampant, obesity condition.
Geneticists spearhead a campaign
To discover the causative gene,
That triggers the body to fill fat cells
It will be a lucrative, capitalist scheme,
The pharmaceuticals will jump into the foray
Bulging bank account sharks that they are,
To charge you an arm and a leg, sir
So you can fit into your car,
But if it's a magical pill that you want
The future can't guarantee that,
It comes back to good health habits and will power
The secrets, to not getting fat.
Fibril_late;
1997
Fat and Shortening
Something needs to be written
But dare I be the one to do it,
There's a backlash in society
For those who like to chew it,
There are over-eaters clubs
And natural shape coaches,
Big and husky clothing shops
And a hundred other approaches,
To address the significant fact
That many of us are overweight,
But if you don't do something about it
You're making a heart attack date.
There are a hundred easy reasons
Why we add the extra fat,
To insulate insecurity
Ninety-nine more than that,
But whatever your excuse
You better look it in the eye,
Twenty percent over your ideal body weight
And you're shortening your time to die.
In these days of over-sensitivity
Politically correcting any sort of verbal affront,
You can barely talk about the human condition
Without becoming the victim of a witch hunt,
Just look at the language we have formulated
To talk about what we are thinking,
Weight challenged with adolescent appetites
While the ground under us is sinking.
Now I know, I'll be attacked for my stance
An inflammatory response is just around the bend,
My teeth are crooked and my hair is falling out
But I don't think it will kill me in the end,
I'm thinking I ought to throw this away
But obesity is fat and we know it,
It's one of those challenges that stands right out
If you're as big as a house, you will show it.
I agree that all of the media hype
About biceps, abs and buns,
May cause the hopeless fatty's to commit suicide
Or seek murder, mayhem and guns,
But it isn't OK to condone it
In the context of feelings and disposition,
There are far reaching medical consequences
For the rampant, obesity condition.
Geneticists spearhead a campaign
To discover the causative gene,
That triggers the body to fill fat cells
It will be a lucrative, capitalist scheme,
The pharmaceuticals will jump into the foray
Bulging bank account sharks that they are,
To charge you an arm and a leg, sir
So you can fit into your car,
But if it's a magical pill that you want
The future can't guarantee that,
It comes back to good health habits and will power
The secrets, to not getting fat.
Fibril_late;
1997
Saturday, January 19, 2008
All those damned credential abbreviations again, and I have to go off and invent a new one. Sheesh. But hey, it applies to me. I'm the aged nurse, heading back into the ICU, following a few years of retirement. So, for all of you like me, RN = Reincarnated Nurse!
Reincarnated Nurse
I'm just an aged RN returning
To the original scene of the crime,
The question that everyone's asking
How many years has it been, since his prime,
While the average age of a nurse
In California, is just forty-seven,
30% of us, clock over 50
You might say, we’re just closer to heaven.
But I suppose, we can’t take all for granted
When you pluck an old nurse from the crypt,
You’ll want to check the degree of senility
And how many discs have been slipped,
Are any critical devices required
For the operation of their bodily functions,
What are the odds, in the midst of their job
You’ll be required to perform extreme unction?
He has twenty long years, in critical-care
How much he retained is unknown,
You can’t train an old dog; can you train an old nurse?
Perhaps his brain has been turned into stone,
But this vacant position, has been unfilled forever
Our list of applicants amounted to two,
No young-nurses applied, perhaps they all died
When they learned how much work they would do.
Perhaps an old nurse, is better than none
All the tricks of the trade have been learned,
He may have lost a little speed, after 4000 shifts
His aches and his pains duly earned,
His competitive spirit, still fires his efforts
His good deeds have no need to be overstated,
A legend in his own time, if you ask those who know
An experienced nurse, reincarnated.
Fibril_late;
1/19/08
Reincarnated Nurse
I'm just an aged RN returning
To the original scene of the crime,
The question that everyone's asking
How many years has it been, since his prime,
While the average age of a nurse
In California, is just forty-seven,
30% of us, clock over 50
You might say, we’re just closer to heaven.
But I suppose, we can’t take all for granted
When you pluck an old nurse from the crypt,
You’ll want to check the degree of senility
And how many discs have been slipped,
Are any critical devices required
For the operation of their bodily functions,
What are the odds, in the midst of their job
You’ll be required to perform extreme unction?
He has twenty long years, in critical-care
How much he retained is unknown,
You can’t train an old dog; can you train an old nurse?
Perhaps his brain has been turned into stone,
But this vacant position, has been unfilled forever
Our list of applicants amounted to two,
No young-nurses applied, perhaps they all died
When they learned how much work they would do.
Perhaps an old nurse, is better than none
All the tricks of the trade have been learned,
He may have lost a little speed, after 4000 shifts
His aches and his pains duly earned,
His competitive spirit, still fires his efforts
His good deeds have no need to be overstated,
A legend in his own time, if you ask those who know
An experienced nurse, reincarnated.
Fibril_late;
1/19/08
Friday, January 11, 2008
First post of the New Year is about becoming sensitive enough to be aware of death at a distance. With Nurses, that is an important tool to have on hand. Critical thinking is good, but Visual Mortality Acuity ranks higher.
Visual Mortality Acuity
Just how far away
Can you determine death,
Can you sense the subtle vibes
Of a beating heart or breath,
Can you see a vapor trail
At 27 meters,
Do you hear the failing heart
By the backfire of its beaters?
Can you hear the deathman's rattle
As you stand outside the door,
Or the whisper of the raven
Softly chanting, "Nevermore",
I like to think, it's just the tailwind
Of a guy who's heaven-bound,
Doing solo flying
With the wings that he just found.
Can you measure rigor mortis
With a telephoto scope,
Can you guarantee a suicide
By the tension on the rope,
Can you call a drive-by shooting
And the bullet riddled brains,
By the ashen colored skin
As the blood pours down the drains?
When you're driving in your car
And there's a guy down in the gutter,
Can you tell from half a block
If his heart beat has a flutter,
Is he a catatonic schizoid
With a blank and staring look;
If you've had the proper training
You could read him like a book.
When you've learned to spot a dead man
At any distance you inspect,
You must study proper timing
To be sure you are correct,
Because uniqueness is the key
When determining a stiff,
This application of your senses
May require just a whiff,
Because death is an olfactory
Experience indeed,
A body laying undisturbed
Begins to go to seed,
And the germination process
Is a documented science,
The timing quite predictable
Like a clockwork geared appliance.
What this boils down to, folks
Is a measurable skill,
It is used by law enforcement
At the scene of any kill,
It can guide the health-care workers
In the plan of their attack,
The odds are, death has not set in
If the body is warm and slack;
So if you'd like to earn your license
With a handsome annual annuity,
Train for certification
In visual mortality acuity.
Fibril_late;
1995
Visual Mortality Acuity
Just how far away
Can you determine death,
Can you sense the subtle vibes
Of a beating heart or breath,
Can you see a vapor trail
At 27 meters,
Do you hear the failing heart
By the backfire of its beaters?
Can you hear the deathman's rattle
As you stand outside the door,
Or the whisper of the raven
Softly chanting, "Nevermore",
I like to think, it's just the tailwind
Of a guy who's heaven-bound,
Doing solo flying
With the wings that he just found.
Can you measure rigor mortis
With a telephoto scope,
Can you guarantee a suicide
By the tension on the rope,
Can you call a drive-by shooting
And the bullet riddled brains,
By the ashen colored skin
As the blood pours down the drains?
When you're driving in your car
And there's a guy down in the gutter,
Can you tell from half a block
If his heart beat has a flutter,
Is he a catatonic schizoid
With a blank and staring look;
If you've had the proper training
You could read him like a book.
When you've learned to spot a dead man
At any distance you inspect,
You must study proper timing
To be sure you are correct,
Because uniqueness is the key
When determining a stiff,
This application of your senses
May require just a whiff,
Because death is an olfactory
Experience indeed,
A body laying undisturbed
Begins to go to seed,
And the germination process
Is a documented science,
The timing quite predictable
Like a clockwork geared appliance.
What this boils down to, folks
Is a measurable skill,
It is used by law enforcement
At the scene of any kill,
It can guide the health-care workers
In the plan of their attack,
The odds are, death has not set in
If the body is warm and slack;
So if you'd like to earn your license
With a handsome annual annuity,
Train for certification
In visual mortality acuity.
Fibril_late;
1995
Friday, December 21, 2007
1997. We were using live-leeches for certain wounds, to protect the microvasculature. Leech saliva contains Hirudin, which is an anticoagulant. It got me thinking and that led to this:
Leech Spit
Leech spit for you
Hirudin for me,
With a torque wrench or hammer
Get your leech spit for free,
Fat bloody suckers
Latch onto your skin,
They suck up the pus
And keep your blood thin.
When those fat little suckers
Have appeased their appetite,
Apply the leech tweezers
To loosen their bite,
You can toss them in a salad
With garlic and oil,
Or throw them in the garden
To enrich the soil.
Leech spit is tasty
Just take it from me,
It's better than jelly
Or a fancy French Brie,
Spread on your cracker
While at brunch with the Queen,
And you don't have to floss
Because it keeps your teeth clean.
Fibril_late; 1997
Leech Spit
Leech spit for you
Hirudin for me,
With a torque wrench or hammer
Get your leech spit for free,
Fat bloody suckers
Latch onto your skin,
They suck up the pus
And keep your blood thin.
When those fat little suckers
Have appeased their appetite,
Apply the leech tweezers
To loosen their bite,
You can toss them in a salad
With garlic and oil,
Or throw them in the garden
To enrich the soil.
Leech spit is tasty
Just take it from me,
It's better than jelly
Or a fancy French Brie,
Spread on your cracker
While at brunch with the Queen,
And you don't have to floss
Because it keeps your teeth clean.
Fibril_late; 1997
Thursday, December 20, 2007
As it turns out, you should read the previous entry ("So Very Clear"), before reading this one, (but that is not human nature), so I digress.
Together, these two poems, chronicle events that were happening in the same time frame. Thus, if you were to read the previous one, maybe it would all make some total sense.
Digging My Hole
I'm bound to get in more trouble
Digging my hole deep and wide,
But after our "attitude" meeting
Our morale, just rolled over and died.
Theoretically, as professional persons
We can communicate by "Doyles book of Rules",
But we're all emotional cretins
And few of us have all the tools.
I've commented before in my ramblings
About the ways in which real people talk,
The mirroring/rephrasing proponents
Make me cover my ears and squawk,
To me, it's too stilted and phony
Lacking empathy and a sense of connection,
I believe that it alienates people
And personally, I want some protection.
I'm bound to get in more trouble
For spreading my thoughts in the press,
But I'm merely recording my insights
As a participant in this morale building mess.
Fibril_late; 1995
Together, these two poems, chronicle events that were happening in the same time frame. Thus, if you were to read the previous one, maybe it would all make some total sense.
Digging My Hole
I'm bound to get in more trouble
Digging my hole deep and wide,
But after our "attitude" meeting
Our morale, just rolled over and died.
Theoretically, as professional persons
We can communicate by "Doyles book of Rules",
But we're all emotional cretins
And few of us have all the tools.
I've commented before in my ramblings
About the ways in which real people talk,
The mirroring/rephrasing proponents
Make me cover my ears and squawk,
To me, it's too stilted and phony
Lacking empathy and a sense of connection,
I believe that it alienates people
And personally, I want some protection.
I'm bound to get in more trouble
For spreading my thoughts in the press,
But I'm merely recording my insights
As a participant in this morale building mess.
Fibril_late; 1995
It was 13 years ago. There were some heavy emotions and discord, curdling among our night shift crew. The Unit Manager had us all sit down together, in an attempt to attain an accord of understanding, and presumption of harmonious relations. It wasn't easy, it didn't flow smoothly, but in the end, compromise was reached and our journey together resumed on a fresh course.
So Very Clear
It's all, so very clear
But I question our success,
Ten people trying to communicate
To clarify a mess.
With our new found understanding
Will we share a common oath?
Or did we polarize our differences
And shatter hopes of growth.
Surely, we won't walk away
As though we are starting anew,
The memories of our discord
Are ingredients in the brew,
It just depends on how we stir it
And the elements we add to the pot,
Will it be a culinary masterpiece
Or just a soup, that's too damn hot?
Fibril_late; 1995
So Very Clear
It's all, so very clear
But I question our success,
Ten people trying to communicate
To clarify a mess.
With our new found understanding
Will we share a common oath?
Or did we polarize our differences
And shatter hopes of growth.
Surely, we won't walk away
As though we are starting anew,
The memories of our discord
Are ingredients in the brew,
It just depends on how we stir it
And the elements we add to the pot,
Will it be a culinary masterpiece
Or just a soup, that's too damn hot?
Fibril_late; 1995
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A.I.C.D. to those of us who know,.....refers to an Implantable Cardiac Defibrillator. I wrote this at least ten years ago, and revised it today. Not just to bring it up to date, but I know I'm a little better at writing too. Don't expect miracles, OK?
A.I.C.D.
The automatic implantable
Defibrillator,
Draws comparison
To something like
An angry alligator.
It's a guardian of the heart
And it has some discrimination,
But once the threshold is crossed
There's no possibility of evasion.
Imagine, deep inside of you
A reptile in repose,
Just waiting for your ventricle
To forget the things it knows,
The reptilian response
Is intriguing to explore,
That cold blooded, sleeping 'gator
Is just a hungry carnivore.
The device is touted broadly
As the answer to your needs,
Although placement has gotten easier
Everybody bleeds,
And the shock of the employment
When the device might save your life,
Might be that night of nooky
With your happy, smiling wife.
To utilize this gadget
You must understand its' name,
It requires a prescription
In the medical-lingo game,
Thus, discussing ye olde acronym
A. I. C. D. and all,
The medical establishment
Will rally at the call.
The "A" is for automatic
How it determines, when to fire,
It considers heart rate and morphology
And the odds if you will expire,
Taking into consideration
Last will, Trust and all bequeathments,
Calculating death expenses
And subsequent bereavements.
It is commonly felt that "Implantable"
Is the word, best attached to the "I",
But contrary to that opinion
It's a concept I boldly deny,
I contend that it's a part of the
Medical-miracle always a cure over-rate-able,
In an endless array
If you got bucks to pay
For the price that is always inflatable.
The "C" could stand in for anything
But here, it corresponds to your heart,
If your Doctor believes that you need it
You'd better be playing your part,
Doing research on all of the avenues
Acquiring a second opinion, too,
Be your own consumer advocate
Before committing to saying, "I do".
The "D", is up for discussion
Though it's translated, to imply defibrillator,
If you ask me, a better description
Would define it as, de-liberator,
When you think of the dead guys we are saving
Who otherwise would have departed,
When their heart started flippin' and floppin'
And their A.I.C.D. got it started.
If they had reserved a heavenly timeshare
Some years in the far distant past,
There might be a statute of limitation
Because that heavenly place fills up fast,
Thus, you might lose your priority status
And survive, to commit mortal sin,
Losing your passport to Heaven
When St. Peter, won't let you come in.
I'm hoping you take into consideration
The facts I have carefully spelled out,
Debarking on the path of the A.I.C.D.
You must choose, when you have no more doubt,
Remember to visualize the image
An alligator awaits your instruction,
His bite might surprise you during dinner
While his goal is to prevent your destruction.
Fibril_late;
1996 / 2007
A.I.C.D.
The automatic implantable
Defibrillator,
Draws comparison
To something like
An angry alligator.
It's a guardian of the heart
And it has some discrimination,
But once the threshold is crossed
There's no possibility of evasion.
Imagine, deep inside of you
A reptile in repose,
Just waiting for your ventricle
To forget the things it knows,
The reptilian response
Is intriguing to explore,
That cold blooded, sleeping 'gator
Is just a hungry carnivore.
The device is touted broadly
As the answer to your needs,
Although placement has gotten easier
Everybody bleeds,
And the shock of the employment
When the device might save your life,
Might be that night of nooky
With your happy, smiling wife.
To utilize this gadget
You must understand its' name,
It requires a prescription
In the medical-lingo game,
Thus, discussing ye olde acronym
A. I. C. D. and all,
The medical establishment
Will rally at the call.
The "A" is for automatic
How it determines, when to fire,
It considers heart rate and morphology
And the odds if you will expire,
Taking into consideration
Last will, Trust and all bequeathments,
Calculating death expenses
And subsequent bereavements.
It is commonly felt that "Implantable"
Is the word, best attached to the "I",
But contrary to that opinion
It's a concept I boldly deny,
I contend that it's a part of the
Medical-miracle always a cure over-rate-able,
In an endless array
If you got bucks to pay
For the price that is always inflatable.
The "C" could stand in for anything
But here, it corresponds to your heart,
If your Doctor believes that you need it
You'd better be playing your part,
Doing research on all of the avenues
Acquiring a second opinion, too,
Be your own consumer advocate
Before committing to saying, "I do".
The "D", is up for discussion
Though it's translated, to imply defibrillator,
If you ask me, a better description
Would define it as, de-liberator,
When you think of the dead guys we are saving
Who otherwise would have departed,
When their heart started flippin' and floppin'
And their A.I.C.D. got it started.
If they had reserved a heavenly timeshare
Some years in the far distant past,
There might be a statute of limitation
Because that heavenly place fills up fast,
Thus, you might lose your priority status
And survive, to commit mortal sin,
Losing your passport to Heaven
When St. Peter, won't let you come in.
I'm hoping you take into consideration
The facts I have carefully spelled out,
Debarking on the path of the A.I.C.D.
You must choose, when you have no more doubt,
Remember to visualize the image
An alligator awaits your instruction,
His bite might surprise you during dinner
While his goal is to prevent your destruction.
Fibril_late;
1996 / 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
oops, I went into a fugue of emptiness, or something. Here is my latest, current poem. I need to dig into some boxes to get to the Nursing stuff, which I will return with in a few days.
What Matters
You may start with something
And it never finishes
But you started, and that is what matters;
Think of things you started and lost
And everything
Ended in tatters,
The journey is life
And life is the journey
It's all about learning and attention,
Insignificant now
Or so it may seem
At the end, may be an honorable mention.
What I have learned
In the course of my years
Has left me open, to the all of potential,
All that may seem
Unconnected and divided
Is but the seed, of the utmost sequential,
Every step of the way
Every motion of breath
Has a purpose to the end of all action,
But we know from our physics
Motion never finds rest
There is always some kind of distraction.
Fibril_late;
11/24/07
What Matters
You may start with something
And it never finishes
But you started, and that is what matters;
Think of things you started and lost
And everything
Ended in tatters,
The journey is life
And life is the journey
It's all about learning and attention,
Insignificant now
Or so it may seem
At the end, may be an honorable mention.
What I have learned
In the course of my years
Has left me open, to the all of potential,
All that may seem
Unconnected and divided
Is but the seed, of the utmost sequential,
Every step of the way
Every motion of breath
Has a purpose to the end of all action,
But we know from our physics
Motion never finds rest
There is always some kind of distraction.
Fibril_late;
11/24/07
Thursday, November 01, 2007
It's really quite simple how the pseudo-life we attempt to recreate in the average hospital admission, reflects life in the real world. All you have to do is imagine.................
Everybody Feeds
Good taste and good value
A basic human desire,
From the day that you are born
Until the moment you expire.
So with that in mind
We tailor health-care to your needs,
Two sheets and a pillowcase
And everybody feeds.
Fibril_late; 1995
Everybody Feeds
Good taste and good value
A basic human desire,
From the day that you are born
Until the moment you expire.
So with that in mind
We tailor health-care to your needs,
Two sheets and a pillowcase
And everybody feeds.
Fibril_late; 1995
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Once in a while, in our CCU, we would have in our care someone who would be waiting for a heart transplant. That person would be high on the waiting list to receive a donor heart, perhaps "hoping" for some unfortunate motor vehicle accident victim to visit our Emergency Room.
No Longer at the Top
It's lonely here
No longer at the top,
As my cardiac function
Grinds to a stop.
I'm just waiting and waiting
For a suitable donor,
It's a serious commitment
I need a permanent loaner,
But someone must die
So I can survive,
Each day I deteriorate
Wondering when they'll arrive.
As the days turn to weeks
And the weeks into months
My room starts to feel like a jail,
My veins are sclerosed
I'm catecholamine dosed
And my kidneys are starting to fail.
My future is grim
But I'm not without hope,
I'm becoming an expert
At trying to cope,
And I'm thankful the nurses
And doctor's are trying,
Their utmost endeavors
To keep me from dying.
Fibril_late; 1998
No Longer at the Top
It's lonely here
No longer at the top,
As my cardiac function
Grinds to a stop.
I'm just waiting and waiting
For a suitable donor,
It's a serious commitment
I need a permanent loaner,
But someone must die
So I can survive,
Each day I deteriorate
Wondering when they'll arrive.
As the days turn to weeks
And the weeks into months
My room starts to feel like a jail,
My veins are sclerosed
I'm catecholamine dosed
And my kidneys are starting to fail.
My future is grim
But I'm not without hope,
I'm becoming an expert
At trying to cope,
And I'm thankful the nurses
And doctor's are trying,
Their utmost endeavors
To keep me from dying.
Fibril_late; 1998
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
I must have been thinking about what a gang member would want for Christmas, and what would be the absolutely, most important #1 thing. Yep, a free-admission pass to the Emergency room!
My Christmas List
It's the Christmas season once again
And I've been good all year,
My wishing list ain't very long
So why not lend your ear?
A case of liquor and some wine
And a couple other trifles,
A tear gas mask, some throwing knives
Plus automatic rifles,
A kilo of Columbian
A water-pipe from Seoul,
A pound of methamphetamines
And an ornate hashish bowl,
A vehicle that's nondescript
But advertised as fun,
It should have a lot of gadgets
Like a loaded drive-by gun,
For those fickle freeway freakouts
And the turf related games,
The hassles with the homeboys
And someone else's dames,
A worn and tattered trenchcoat
For flashing Lois Lane,
Some mescaline and LSD
To fry my little brain,
But if you find my list too long
I have one priority,
A year long E.R. admission pass
To UCDMC.
Fibril_late; 1995
My Christmas List
It's the Christmas season once again
And I've been good all year,
My wishing list ain't very long
So why not lend your ear?
A case of liquor and some wine
And a couple other trifles,
A tear gas mask, some throwing knives
Plus automatic rifles,
A kilo of Columbian
A water-pipe from Seoul,
A pound of methamphetamines
And an ornate hashish bowl,
A vehicle that's nondescript
But advertised as fun,
It should have a lot of gadgets
Like a loaded drive-by gun,
For those fickle freeway freakouts
And the turf related games,
The hassles with the homeboys
And someone else's dames,
A worn and tattered trenchcoat
For flashing Lois Lane,
Some mescaline and LSD
To fry my little brain,
But if you find my list too long
I have one priority,
A year long E.R. admission pass
To UCDMC.
Fibril_late; 1995
Monday, October 08, 2007
Nursing is hazardous work. Every year, you hear from someone, "Did you hear that so and so died. Yup, got shot by a patient." One time I was kicked in the head by a berserker, and suffered a concussion. Patients get sick, and then crazy, and you never know what will happen next. Back in the day, it wasn't like that.
In Days Long Gone
In days long gone
Of innocent youth,
You could go to a Doctor
To get at the truth,
Because disease back then
Was fairly simple,
Unwanted babies
Or maybe a pimple,
A week in the hospital
Would do the trick,
If you didn't die
You weren't really sick,
Because medicine men
Didn't have many drugs,
No antibiotics
For bacterial bugs,
Just common sense
Like fluid and rest,
Surgical wounds
Were debrided and dressed,
Life support measures
Not yet invented,
Many more sinners
Took stock and repented.
But today, man, it's different
This hospital scene,
Each organ system
Has a machine;
Any mechanic can tell you
This carries a price,
It's Russian roulette
With a medical device.
Central line catheters
A bacterial threat,
Ground fault dysrhythmias
If a pacer gets wet,
Gastric perforation
From sump pumping hoses,
After long-term use
They'll have a nasal necrosis,
Tracheal malacia
And traumatic intubation,
Will lead to a permanent
Horse voiced oration,
Tympanic rupture
From a doppler detonation,
Uremic poisoning
From bladder ablation,
And that's just the patients
But, what about the nurse,
Each day at the job
Is surely a curse.
Consider the dangerous
Equipment itself,
Monitor boxes
That fall off the shelf,
Land on your head
Bruising your brain,
There's no medication
For this kind of pain,
Suspended televisions
That swing in an arc,
Causing serious damage
At night, in the dark,
Colonic disasters
From overfilled pans,
Body fluid exposure
On your clothes and your hands,
Broken thermometers
With mercurial spills,
Inhaling poisonous dust
From all those crushed pills,
Exposure to X-rays
That zoom through the walls,
Effectively neutering
Ovaries and balls.
Good god, it's a nightmare
There is nowhere to hide,
But who keeps statistics
On the nurses that died,
In the course of their work
By their choice of career,
They silently vanish
Year after year,
As their spirits race homeward
At the crack of each dawn,
The days of their innocent youth
Are long gone.
Fibril_late; 1997
In Days Long Gone
In days long gone
Of innocent youth,
You could go to a Doctor
To get at the truth,
Because disease back then
Was fairly simple,
Unwanted babies
Or maybe a pimple,
A week in the hospital
Would do the trick,
If you didn't die
You weren't really sick,
Because medicine men
Didn't have many drugs,
No antibiotics
For bacterial bugs,
Just common sense
Like fluid and rest,
Surgical wounds
Were debrided and dressed,
Life support measures
Not yet invented,
Many more sinners
Took stock and repented.
But today, man, it's different
This hospital scene,
Each organ system
Has a machine;
Any mechanic can tell you
This carries a price,
It's Russian roulette
With a medical device.
Central line catheters
A bacterial threat,
Ground fault dysrhythmias
If a pacer gets wet,
Gastric perforation
From sump pumping hoses,
After long-term use
They'll have a nasal necrosis,
Tracheal malacia
And traumatic intubation,
Will lead to a permanent
Horse voiced oration,
Tympanic rupture
From a doppler detonation,
Uremic poisoning
From bladder ablation,
And that's just the patients
But, what about the nurse,
Each day at the job
Is surely a curse.
Consider the dangerous
Equipment itself,
Monitor boxes
That fall off the shelf,
Land on your head
Bruising your brain,
There's no medication
For this kind of pain,
Suspended televisions
That swing in an arc,
Causing serious damage
At night, in the dark,
Colonic disasters
From overfilled pans,
Body fluid exposure
On your clothes and your hands,
Broken thermometers
With mercurial spills,
Inhaling poisonous dust
From all those crushed pills,
Exposure to X-rays
That zoom through the walls,
Effectively neutering
Ovaries and balls.
Good god, it's a nightmare
There is nowhere to hide,
But who keeps statistics
On the nurses that died,
In the course of their work
By their choice of career,
They silently vanish
Year after year,
As their spirits race homeward
At the crack of each dawn,
The days of their innocent youth
Are long gone.
Fibril_late; 1997
Sunday, October 07, 2007
In most hospitals, there is rivalry between different ICU's, where each arena, likes to believe they know the most, have the most critical patient's to care for, and therefore, are the "best" critical-care nurses. Working in what is known as the Coronary Care Unit (medical) meant that you took care of people with CHF, acute MI's, Unstable Angina, pacemaker's, etc. You didn't have to deal with many wounds, virtually no post-op surgical patient's and rarely any infections. In other words, a pretty clean place. So when one of "our" nurses, decided to transfer to the Surgical Intensive Care Unit, I was forced to put my disbelief into words.
Oh, Marge
Oh, Marge
I have to tell the truth,
S.I.C.U.
Will steal your youth,
We'll miss your
Always wonderful self,
Like empty bookends
On a shelf.
Trauma surgeons
There's not doubt,
Really love to
Shake and shout,
Measure outputs
Like fanatics,
And drink the juice
Of drained lymphatics.
So sure, the place
Is great for learnin',
Q-2 hour
Crash and burnin',
Busted faces
Legs and brains,
Fifty thousand
Sucking drains.
But you'll be back
To plead your case,
And fool us with
A happy face,
Nostalgic for
The pretty view,
At sunrise
In the C.C.U.
Fibril_late; 1994
Oh, Marge
Oh, Marge
I have to tell the truth,
S.I.C.U.
Will steal your youth,
We'll miss your
Always wonderful self,
Like empty bookends
On a shelf.
Trauma surgeons
There's not doubt,
Really love to
Shake and shout,
Measure outputs
Like fanatics,
And drink the juice
Of drained lymphatics.
So sure, the place
Is great for learnin',
Q-2 hour
Crash and burnin',
Busted faces
Legs and brains,
Fifty thousand
Sucking drains.
But you'll be back
To plead your case,
And fool us with
A happy face,
Nostalgic for
The pretty view,
At sunrise
In the C.C.U.
Fibril_late; 1994
The word Obtunded is not used in everyday conversation. Its meaning is; mentally dulled. A person may be obtunded due to head trauma. Yet, you can understand why it might be commonly used, among certain medical persons.
Even less used is obtundation, which means, a dulled or reduced level of alertness or consciousness. One might report, that "Mr. X is in a profound state of obtundation." One of the ways to determine if the person is arousable, is to rub their sternum briskly and firmly, with your knuckles. Yes, it cause a noxious pain. Early in my career I worked with a nurse named Jan, whose sternal rub was legendary. Numerous obtunded persons, came to wakefulness under her forceful rub.
The Obtundation Rap
The shift was OK
Until he tried to spoil it,
Circling the
Obtundation toilet.
I lit up his pupils
And screamed, "Look here, Bub",
I'm known far and wide
For my killer sternal-rub,
You might think you can fool me
But as your nurse, I get first dibs,
To rap out the death-march
On your skinny little ribs.
Your brand of behavior
Will not be endured,
One way or another
Your obtundation will be cured.
Fibril_late; 1992
Even less used is obtundation, which means, a dulled or reduced level of alertness or consciousness. One might report, that "Mr. X is in a profound state of obtundation." One of the ways to determine if the person is arousable, is to rub their sternum briskly and firmly, with your knuckles. Yes, it cause a noxious pain. Early in my career I worked with a nurse named Jan, whose sternal rub was legendary. Numerous obtunded persons, came to wakefulness under her forceful rub.
The Obtundation Rap
The shift was OK
Until he tried to spoil it,
Circling the
Obtundation toilet.
I lit up his pupils
And screamed, "Look here, Bub",
I'm known far and wide
For my killer sternal-rub,
You might think you can fool me
But as your nurse, I get first dibs,
To rap out the death-march
On your skinny little ribs.
Your brand of behavior
Will not be endured,
One way or another
Your obtundation will be cured.
Fibril_late; 1992
Thursday, October 04, 2007
WARNING: This poem is totally gross.
Unfortunately, it was inspired by my own, real-life experience, getting involved in some TID dressing change, on a stage-4, infected decubitus. The only way I could deal with the demolition of "Universal Precautions", was to write about it.
Pseudomonas Stew
When the wound begins to fester
Oozing yellow goo,
When the pungency develops
Into a powerful pee-yoo,
When the macerated tissue
Melts into a slurry,
It's time to plan for dinner
Though there isn't any hurry.
When, necrosing blisters burst
And splatter you with blood,
When the stage-four lumbar crater
Starts leaking thick green crud,
It's time to think of dinner
Invite a friend or two,
The main course is a favorite
That pseudomonas stew.
FIbril_late; 1995
Unfortunately, it was inspired by my own, real-life experience, getting involved in some TID dressing change, on a stage-4, infected decubitus. The only way I could deal with the demolition of "Universal Precautions", was to write about it.
Pseudomonas Stew
When the wound begins to fester
Oozing yellow goo,
When the pungency develops
Into a powerful pee-yoo,
When the macerated tissue
Melts into a slurry,
It's time to plan for dinner
Though there isn't any hurry.
When, necrosing blisters burst
And splatter you with blood,
When the stage-four lumbar crater
Starts leaking thick green crud,
It's time to think of dinner
Invite a friend or two,
The main course is a favorite
That pseudomonas stew.
FIbril_late; 1995
It seems like every big city has a Trauma Center, smack dab in the center of all the action. It's so convenient for the gangs and what not. When you get shot or stabbed, your friendly neighborhood Emergency department is just down the street looking for new business. Hey, we groove on it too; after all, there is nothing more boring than twiddling your thumbs all night in the E.R.
The Stockton Boulevard Shuffle
At night we go out cruisin'
For something fun to do,
We pack the glove compartment
With rock cocaine and glue,
We inventory weapons
And check our ammunition,
Then analyze the dress code
To prepare for demolition,
We'll boogie on the boulevard
Until the moon has set,
We're hunting for our rivals
It's a turf related debt.
We're doin' the Stockton Shuffle
It's our favorite expedition,
We'll keep our zip guns loaded
And ready for attrition.
The happy hombre' hideaway
Is actively recruiting,
Respect is guaranteed
If you've done a drive by shooting,
Because our leader, Jesus Wannabee
Got blown away last week,
He took a double shotgun blast
Directly on his beak,
Thus splattering his sacred essence
Upon the dashboard fur,
Now, when we take a low ride cruise
The windshield is a blur.
It's a party, it's a shuffle, on the promenade
We're kickin' up our heels out in the street,
We're paying our respects to Jesus Wannabee
While jamming to our favorite gangland beat.
Fibril_late; 1993
The Stockton Boulevard Shuffle
At night we go out cruisin'
For something fun to do,
We pack the glove compartment
With rock cocaine and glue,
We inventory weapons
And check our ammunition,
Then analyze the dress code
To prepare for demolition,
We'll boogie on the boulevard
Until the moon has set,
We're hunting for our rivals
It's a turf related debt.
We're doin' the Stockton Shuffle
It's our favorite expedition,
We'll keep our zip guns loaded
And ready for attrition.
The happy hombre' hideaway
Is actively recruiting,
Respect is guaranteed
If you've done a drive by shooting,
Because our leader, Jesus Wannabee
Got blown away last week,
He took a double shotgun blast
Directly on his beak,
Thus splattering his sacred essence
Upon the dashboard fur,
Now, when we take a low ride cruise
The windshield is a blur.
It's a party, it's a shuffle, on the promenade
We're kickin' up our heels out in the street,
We're paying our respects to Jesus Wannabee
While jamming to our favorite gangland beat.
Fibril_late; 1993
Friday, September 28, 2007
Who wants to get old and remain happy and productive? Most everyone would agree to that plan. But how about getting old and suffer dementia? Not a very desirable scenario, right? Well, here is one possible avenue of escape.
Demented Blues
Getting old
Don't look too fun,
I'm gonna get
A suicide gun,
Fill it full of bullets
Then hide it in my bed,
When I get demented
I'll ventilate my head.
I want a one way ticket
On the euthanasia bus,
Just let me die in peace
If I get delirious.
Fibril_late; 1993
Demented Blues
Getting old
Don't look too fun,
I'm gonna get
A suicide gun,
Fill it full of bullets
Then hide it in my bed,
When I get demented
I'll ventilate my head.
I want a one way ticket
On the euthanasia bus,
Just let me die in peace
If I get delirious.
Fibril_late; 1993
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Oh, my gosh; back to the topic of sputum once again. Since you're just reading the latest poem, you must become aware that I was once a Respiratory Therapist. Yes, many long years ago, prior to my exalted career as a Nurse. So yes, I know the ins and outs of sputum. After a while, one gets an attitude about it all...............
Cauterized
If you spit your sputum
On the floor,
Don't expect me
At your door,
Because the house-rule states
And, I'll be brief,
You have to use
Your handkerchief.
So heed my word
Don't be a fool,
It's easy enough
To follow my rule,
But if you continue
Don't be surprised,
When you find your lips
Are cauterized.
Fibril_late; 1994
Cauterized
If you spit your sputum
On the floor,
Don't expect me
At your door,
Because the house-rule states
And, I'll be brief,
You have to use
Your handkerchief.
So heed my word
Don't be a fool,
It's easy enough
To follow my rule,
But if you continue
Don't be surprised,
When you find your lips
Are cauterized.
Fibril_late; 1994
In the presence of people with advanced stages of disease, you (Nurse) become sensitive to certain expressions of speech, or how they describe how they are feeling at the moment. Some of those expressions, portend impending doom and disaster.
For example, when the patient who has had a major Myocardial Infarction, suddenly states, "I don't feel so good" , yet all the while, everything has been looking peachy-keen. Don't ask questions, just call out the door, and say something like, "Would someone please bring the crash-cart to room-17, ASAP!!!". Yes, that is a clear example of your critical-thinking skills kicking in (aka, "intuition"). If you overlook it...................
Cruisin' Heaven
A mysterious event
Happened just today,
The man said, "I don't feel so good"
Then his heart-beat went away.
I told him not to do that
But he didn't seem to care,
His heart rate slowed dramatically
Until it wasn't there.
With bells and buzzers ringing
We wailed upon that man,
His color went from purple
To a lovely desert tan.
He received a hit of atropine
Some calcium and epi,
He replied with tachy-rhythms
But his pump just wasn't peppy.
With the force of seven doctors
And the strength of twenty nurses,
Collectively their aura
Dispelled the evil curses,
That had bound him to his destiny
In a room without a view,
Now he's cruisin' heavens highways
With an angel friend or two.
Fibril_late; 1997
For example, when the patient who has had a major Myocardial Infarction, suddenly states, "I don't feel so good" , yet all the while, everything has been looking peachy-keen. Don't ask questions, just call out the door, and say something like, "Would someone please bring the crash-cart to room-17, ASAP!!!". Yes, that is a clear example of your critical-thinking skills kicking in (aka, "intuition"). If you overlook it...................
Cruisin' Heaven
A mysterious event
Happened just today,
The man said, "I don't feel so good"
Then his heart-beat went away.
I told him not to do that
But he didn't seem to care,
His heart rate slowed dramatically
Until it wasn't there.
With bells and buzzers ringing
We wailed upon that man,
His color went from purple
To a lovely desert tan.
He received a hit of atropine
Some calcium and epi,
He replied with tachy-rhythms
But his pump just wasn't peppy.
With the force of seven doctors
And the strength of twenty nurses,
Collectively their aura
Dispelled the evil curses,
That had bound him to his destiny
In a room without a view,
Now he's cruisin' heavens highways
With an angel friend or two.
Fibril_late; 1997
A short story about a dying heart..............as told to me by (name withheld by request).
Ectopated
He had some pain
But then, he waited,
Because he didn't know
What it implicated,
Then he got real sick
Or so he stated,
When he became dizzy
And nauseated,
Because it's uglier than pain
When you vomit unabated,
Its the worst, God-awful feeling
That you ever have hated.
So he came into the hospital
To be evaluated,
He was worried that his body
Would soon become outdated,
He had never been a patient
And thought health was overrated,
He had never had a cause
Until death seemed almost fated.
His breathing was tachypneic
His neck veins were inflated,
His rhythm Sinus tach
And very ectopated,
His ischemic myocardium
Gave up and fibrillated,
We zapped him with the stunners
Till his heart electroplated.
Unconsciousness ensued
When his brain waves were ablated,
His astral body floated
To the ceiling elevated,
Then the angel guys arrived
And he participated,
There was no turning back
Because his life force dissipated.
Fibril_lated; 1995
Ectopated
He had some pain
But then, he waited,
Because he didn't know
What it implicated,
Then he got real sick
Or so he stated,
When he became dizzy
And nauseated,
Because it's uglier than pain
When you vomit unabated,
Its the worst, God-awful feeling
That you ever have hated.
So he came into the hospital
To be evaluated,
He was worried that his body
Would soon become outdated,
He had never been a patient
And thought health was overrated,
He had never had a cause
Until death seemed almost fated.
His breathing was tachypneic
His neck veins were inflated,
His rhythm Sinus tach
And very ectopated,
His ischemic myocardium
Gave up and fibrillated,
We zapped him with the stunners
Till his heart electroplated.
Unconsciousness ensued
When his brain waves were ablated,
His astral body floated
To the ceiling elevated,
Then the angel guys arrived
And he participated,
There was no turning back
Because his life force dissipated.
Fibril_lated; 1995
Regarding the study of EKG, it is the topic of Heart Block that appears to confuse most persons. Let's take a look at it:
Demystifying the EKG
At work I ponder images
The waveforms of an EKG,
In the language of the beating heart
It usually is clear to me,
But sometimes I am mystified
About the A.V. block,
It manifests so many ways
My brain goes into shock.
First degree or second degree
Third degree and more,
P-waves are advancing
And can't get through the door,
I must utilize some rules
As my analyzing key,
To unlock the great unknown
Of this crazy EKG.
Fibril_late; 1997
Demystifying the EKG
At work I ponder images
The waveforms of an EKG,
In the language of the beating heart
It usually is clear to me,
But sometimes I am mystified
About the A.V. block,
It manifests so many ways
My brain goes into shock.
First degree or second degree
Third degree and more,
P-waves are advancing
And can't get through the door,
I must utilize some rules
As my analyzing key,
To unlock the great unknown
Of this crazy EKG.
Fibril_late; 1997
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
This is another old, Joint Commission rant, regarding how all departments of the hospital must tidy up all their charts and documents.
It is also a poem where, with each succeeding line, the first letter subsequently spells out a phrase as you read downward through the lines. It's kind of a fun exercise in writing.
The Joint Commission
Justify each document
Condense a neat reply,
Harp on education
And answer what and why,
Organize your data
Within a structured format,
Anachronistic rules
Need you for a doormat,
There is really little
Sense to this, And I will tell you why
Piles of needless documents
Are mounting to the sky,
Plugging up the landfills
Eliminating trees,
Reasoning is absent, I think everyone agrees.
Fibril_late; 1996
It is also a poem where, with each succeeding line, the first letter subsequently spells out a phrase as you read downward through the lines. It's kind of a fun exercise in writing.
The Joint Commission
Justify each document
Condense a neat reply,
Harp on education
And answer what and why,
Organize your data
Within a structured format,
Anachronistic rules
Need you for a doormat,
There is really little
Sense to this, And I will tell you why
Piles of needless documents
Are mounting to the sky,
Plugging up the landfills
Eliminating trees,
Reasoning is absent, I think everyone agrees.
Fibril_late; 1996
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Ok, (not OJ, ok?).
3 days a month, I am an Instructor in a class of students learning the fine art of Basic Cardiac Monitoring. I tutor as well. Over the years I have written quite a few arrhythmia poems and this one too, about AV conduction.
Just An Impulse
I'm on a Roman holiday
To find the Mother Lode,
The treasure map I'm following
Describes the A.V. node.
Yes, I am just an impulse
A vector plus or minus,
Traveling on a pathway
That started at the Sinus.
I'm scheduled for a rendezvous
A well earned coffee break,
A hang out at the Junction
To discuss which road to take.
At the crossroads there's a signal
That will guide my future travels,
If I violate the timing
Synchronicity unravels,
Then the trip that I had planned
Will require transformation,
As an impulse, I may follow
A course of aberration.
In the future I will hire
A tour guide for instruction,
As a stimulus, I must know
The pathways of conduction.
Fibril_late; 1998
3 days a month, I am an Instructor in a class of students learning the fine art of Basic Cardiac Monitoring. I tutor as well. Over the years I have written quite a few arrhythmia poems and this one too, about AV conduction.
Just An Impulse
I'm on a Roman holiday
To find the Mother Lode,
The treasure map I'm following
Describes the A.V. node.
Yes, I am just an impulse
A vector plus or minus,
Traveling on a pathway
That started at the Sinus.
I'm scheduled for a rendezvous
A well earned coffee break,
A hang out at the Junction
To discuss which road to take.
At the crossroads there's a signal
That will guide my future travels,
If I violate the timing
Synchronicity unravels,
Then the trip that I had planned
Will require transformation,
As an impulse, I may follow
A course of aberration.
In the future I will hire
A tour guide for instruction,
As a stimulus, I must know
The pathways of conduction.
Fibril_late; 1998
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Allegory is a form of extended metaphor, in which objects, persons, and actions in a narrative, are equated with the meanings that lie outside the narrative itself. The underlying meaning has moral, social, religious, or political significance, and characters are often personifications of abstract ideas as charity, greed, or envy.
Thus an allegory is a story with two meanings, a literal meaning and a symbolic meaning.
Well, this is something akin to an allegory. It's about a man who is dying, and in the course of his death, he loses the compass of his mind.
No One at the Helm
Stormy winter landscape, where
White capped waves
Wash a stony beach,
All within the minds eye,
This man is out of reach.
Cellular degeneration
In the microscopic realm,
The captain is in the forecastle
And there's no one at the helm.
The three-masted schooner
Of his body, mind and spirit,
Are hopelessly adrift, yet
He doesn't sense, to fear it.
Self induced or inorganic
The end result the same,
He won't remember where he lives
And might forget his name,
Once, the captain of the ship
That ruled the awesome seas,
Reduced to live out life
In diminishing degrees.
Fibril_late; 1997
Thus an allegory is a story with two meanings, a literal meaning and a symbolic meaning.
Well, this is something akin to an allegory. It's about a man who is dying, and in the course of his death, he loses the compass of his mind.
No One at the Helm
Stormy winter landscape, where
White capped waves
Wash a stony beach,
All within the minds eye,
This man is out of reach.
Cellular degeneration
In the microscopic realm,
The captain is in the forecastle
And there's no one at the helm.
The three-masted schooner
Of his body, mind and spirit,
Are hopelessly adrift, yet
He doesn't sense, to fear it.
Self induced or inorganic
The end result the same,
He won't remember where he lives
And might forget his name,
Once, the captain of the ship
That ruled the awesome seas,
Reduced to live out life
In diminishing degrees.
Fibril_late; 1997
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Usually with each posting, the poem that I wrote 10 years ago or so, I actually remember that event associated with it; thus, this was a journaling of my reality at the time. But other times, I don't have a clue to what I was referring too. This poem is about near-death, something about EKG arrhythmia's, possibly about PVC's, but your guess is as good as mine.
The Death Bumps
Take heed, the rolling eyeballs
Beware, the gasping breath,
Take note, the tachycardia
Watch out for bumps of death,
They hide behind the rhythm
And rarely show their face,
But increase the vagal tone
And you'll see the death bump pace,
Attempt to stay the inevitable
The course, that all life takes,
Remain alert and ready for
The trail the death bump makes.
Fibril_late; 1995
The Death Bumps
Take heed, the rolling eyeballs
Beware, the gasping breath,
Take note, the tachycardia
Watch out for bumps of death,
They hide behind the rhythm
And rarely show their face,
But increase the vagal tone
And you'll see the death bump pace,
Attempt to stay the inevitable
The course, that all life takes,
Remain alert and ready for
The trail the death bump makes.
Fibril_late; 1995
Saturday, September 08, 2007
There is an entire science built around the results of automobiles ramming into each other at high rates of speed. I think forensics fits in there somewhere, and no doubt, a whole lot of other stuff, like what I am about to describe.
The Multi-Auto Pileup
The Multi-Auto Pileup
Loose body part trajectory,
Has prompted in-depth studies
At the cannonball refrectory,
Those bug-eyed, quasi-scientists
Will poke their noses deep,
At the site of any accidents
Where body parts might heap.
Several questions come to mind
About these missing limbs,
Do you have a separate funeral
And sing fragmented hymns,
And then, there is the theory
About the phantom pain,
Is there a phantom body
If you find an intact brain,
You may find this topic gruesome
And too disgusting for your mind,
But someday in the future
We may cure the phantom blind.
Fibril_late; 1997
The Multi-Auto Pileup
The Multi-Auto Pileup
Loose body part trajectory,
Has prompted in-depth studies
At the cannonball refrectory,
Those bug-eyed, quasi-scientists
Will poke their noses deep,
At the site of any accidents
Where body parts might heap.
Several questions come to mind
About these missing limbs,
Do you have a separate funeral
And sing fragmented hymns,
And then, there is the theory
About the phantom pain,
Is there a phantom body
If you find an intact brain,
You may find this topic gruesome
And too disgusting for your mind,
But someday in the future
We may cure the phantom blind.
Fibril_late; 1997
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Thanks to TV and movies (I suspect), the most common sights that are recalled about the medical/nursing professions, have to do with the excitement in the Emergency Department or in the ICU. And to those of us who've spent a lot of time there, it often seems like:
The Outskirts of Hell
Some nights like this
Are too darn boring,
It takes a maximum effort
To keep from snoring,
But I must be ready
For catastrophe and clamor,
The component of nursing
That provides all the glamor.
Saving the lives of
The sick and the broken,
High fat consumption
And cigarette smokin',
Uppers and downers
Liquor, cocaine,
Greasing the pipes
As they slip down the drain.
Being an angel
Of mercy and death,
Holding the keys
To their heartbeat and breath,
Then going home hungry
And burnt out, as well,
It's a glamorous life
On the outskirts of Hell.
Fibril_late; 1998
The Outskirts of Hell
Some nights like this
Are too darn boring,
It takes a maximum effort
To keep from snoring,
But I must be ready
For catastrophe and clamor,
The component of nursing
That provides all the glamor.
Saving the lives of
The sick and the broken,
High fat consumption
And cigarette smokin',
Uppers and downers
Liquor, cocaine,
Greasing the pipes
As they slip down the drain.
Being an angel
Of mercy and death,
Holding the keys
To their heartbeat and breath,
Then going home hungry
And burnt out, as well,
It's a glamorous life
On the outskirts of Hell.
Fibril_late; 1998
When patients bleed unexpectedly, it is always worrisome. When it's enough blood to leak from the bed to the floor, it's a serious situation. Let me tell you about it:
Bloody Shoes
Petrified, I am indeed
I'm nervous, when
They start to bleed,
When blood leaks out
And stains the bed,
I get kind of dizzy
In my head,
If I find a pool
Upon the floor,
Spreading towards
The open door,
I want to run
The other way,
Because bloody shoes
Just ruin my day.
Fibril_late; 1999
Bloody Shoes
Petrified, I am indeed
I'm nervous, when
They start to bleed,
When blood leaks out
And stains the bed,
I get kind of dizzy
In my head,
If I find a pool
Upon the floor,
Spreading towards
The open door,
I want to run
The other way,
Because bloody shoes
Just ruin my day.
Fibril_late; 1999
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
I admit it; I'm over 50, and the AARP is sending me subscription queries on a quarterly basis. What's up with that? I'm not old, and certainly I'm not anywhere near retirement (but unfortunately, I fall back on that excuse to substantiate why I haven't worked much in the past 4 years).
Anyways, I do still suffer from some degree of chemical sensitivity, which I believe I acquired from the many years of hanging around in hospitals (25 years+). Here it is, 4 years since I officially left the "big-house" and most perfumes that are included in any type of household product, cause my eyes to burn and I become irritable ("what in the heck is that smell, and get it out of the house, NOW").
Considering all the chemicals Nurses are exposed to from the medications we have to handle, formulate and deliver and the myriads of "sanitation-cleaning" materials we come in contact with, there is no question that Nurses have to be counted amongst those with excessive chemical exposure issues. And the proof is in the following poem I wrote, back in the day............
The Saga of the Shiny Floor
Who would think
That critical-care,
Would need a floor
With a shiny glare,
Perhaps, it's for
The public eyes,
Who might be concerned
If Junior dies,
Inside a joint
With a dirty floor,
Patient care
May be less; not more.
To me it seems
A poor decision,
The chemicals
Irritate my vision,
As such, I may not
Spot the clue,
That Junior's demise
Is imminently due.
It's plainly clear
That someone wise,
Must find a suitable
Compromise,
To save the Nurses
And the sick,
Who are dropping like flies
Pretty damn quick.
Fibril_late; 1998
Anyways, I do still suffer from some degree of chemical sensitivity, which I believe I acquired from the many years of hanging around in hospitals (25 years+). Here it is, 4 years since I officially left the "big-house" and most perfumes that are included in any type of household product, cause my eyes to burn and I become irritable ("what in the heck is that smell, and get it out of the house, NOW").
Considering all the chemicals Nurses are exposed to from the medications we have to handle, formulate and deliver and the myriads of "sanitation-cleaning" materials we come in contact with, there is no question that Nurses have to be counted amongst those with excessive chemical exposure issues. And the proof is in the following poem I wrote, back in the day............
The Saga of the Shiny Floor
Who would think
That critical-care,
Would need a floor
With a shiny glare,
Perhaps, it's for
The public eyes,
Who might be concerned
If Junior dies,
Inside a joint
With a dirty floor,
Patient care
May be less; not more.
To me it seems
A poor decision,
The chemicals
Irritate my vision,
As such, I may not
Spot the clue,
That Junior's demise
Is imminently due.
It's plainly clear
That someone wise,
Must find a suitable
Compromise,
To save the Nurses
And the sick,
Who are dropping like flies
Pretty damn quick.
Fibril_late; 1998
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
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 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
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
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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
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
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
Thursday, August 16, 2007
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
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
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
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
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Another Poem drifting in the breeze.
To Win The Game
I met a corpse
That wouldn't die,
So I asked the man
Please tell me why,
He couldn't quit
His busted frame,
And he replied
"It's just a game".
When I was young
I went to school,
I memorized
The Golden Rule,
My teachers said
"Son, what's your aim"?
And I replied
"It's just a game".
When I grew up
I looked around,
And tried to figure
What I had found,
I had success and
Love and fame,
But something whispered
"It's just a game".
In later years
When I wore out,
Some people heard me
Scream and shout,
I said to them
"I bear no shame",
'Cause life is just
A little game".
Now, I'm lying here
And my time is up,
I think I've finally
Drained my cup,
I've told the story
Of why I came,
So you might learn
It's just a game.
Fibril_late; 1990's
To Win The Game
I met a corpse
That wouldn't die,
So I asked the man
Please tell me why,
He couldn't quit
His busted frame,
And he replied
"It's just a game".
When I was young
I went to school,
I memorized
The Golden Rule,
My teachers said
"Son, what's your aim"?
And I replied
"It's just a game".
When I grew up
I looked around,
And tried to figure
What I had found,
I had success and
Love and fame,
But something whispered
"It's just a game".
In later years
When I wore out,
Some people heard me
Scream and shout,
I said to them
"I bear no shame",
'Cause life is just
A little game".
Now, I'm lying here
And my time is up,
I think I've finally
Drained my cup,
I've told the story
Of why I came,
So you might learn
It's just a game.
Fibril_late; 1990's
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Another classic dredged up from the Archives of The Underside:
Tumbling Dominoes
She has been here several weeks
And had every kind of tube,
Can you believe, she was admitted
For just a jiffy-lube?
Her heart was sorta sluggish
And her blood was quite anemic,
And just like tumbling dominoes
Her brain became ischemic.
Combative and demonic
Obesity berserk,
She started bustin' up the place
And nearly killed a clerk,
We loaded her with Versed
Morphine and some Ativan,
Enough to kill an elephant
It knocked her on her can.
But side effects are side effects
And some can lead to death,
We finally had silenced her
But we took away her breath,
So she earned the respirator
It was the prize behind door three,
It includes a year of tubing
And a therapist for free.
Now her respiratory failure
Brought on shock and RDS,
Why, in just a couple hours
She became a total mess,
Reversible?, it's possible
But it's not the likely course,
We can treat her up the yin yang
But can't replace the lost life-force.
Because the woman was a time-bomb
Just waiting to explode,
She had multi-system failure
From a life on lipid road,
Her triglycerides set records
That will stand for many moons,
She had a steady diet
Of booze and macaroons.
Her husband was no better
He paid the grocery bill,
You couldn't make them understand
Their type of life would kill,
Now lying here before us
Is a body, life supported,
And we're rushing around like maniacs
Because her heart beat just aborted,
And it seems a little pointless
To apply our super science,
To a person who spent years
In stubborn, health defiance.
Fibril_late; 1994
Tumbling Dominoes
She has been here several weeks
And had every kind of tube,
Can you believe, she was admitted
For just a jiffy-lube?
Her heart was sorta sluggish
And her blood was quite anemic,
And just like tumbling dominoes
Her brain became ischemic.
Combative and demonic
Obesity berserk,
She started bustin' up the place
And nearly killed a clerk,
We loaded her with Versed
Morphine and some Ativan,
Enough to kill an elephant
It knocked her on her can.
But side effects are side effects
And some can lead to death,
We finally had silenced her
But we took away her breath,
So she earned the respirator
It was the prize behind door three,
It includes a year of tubing
And a therapist for free.
Now her respiratory failure
Brought on shock and RDS,
Why, in just a couple hours
She became a total mess,
Reversible?, it's possible
But it's not the likely course,
We can treat her up the yin yang
But can't replace the lost life-force.
Because the woman was a time-bomb
Just waiting to explode,
She had multi-system failure
From a life on lipid road,
Her triglycerides set records
That will stand for many moons,
She had a steady diet
Of booze and macaroons.
Her husband was no better
He paid the grocery bill,
You couldn't make them understand
Their type of life would kill,
Now lying here before us
Is a body, life supported,
And we're rushing around like maniacs
Because her heart beat just aborted,
And it seems a little pointless
To apply our super science,
To a person who spent years
In stubborn, health defiance.
Fibril_late; 1994
Monday, July 23, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Quite frankly, I have no idea when I wrote this one, but it's about a "LOL" Little Old Lady, getting ready to check out, and the outcome of being the recipient of a "911" call.
Dial 9-1-1 (and have some fun)
I'm alive, I can't believe it
I had given up to die,
I'd arranged to kick the frame today
No one cared to ask me why,
I have lived a long eventful life
But foresaw a painful death,
Then I was boldly interrupted
When I took my final breath.
A local family member
Discovered I was prone,
He heard me fall upon the floor
And thought he heard me moan,
In truth, I was rejoicing
It was time for me to run,
Well, then that sucker saved me
He dialed, 9-1-1.
A gorgeous hunk of Fireman
Drove right up to my door,
Assessed the situation
And figured he could score,
Attached me to a monitor
Announcing an arrest,
Resuscitated me, oh, Lord
With massage upon my breast.
Aroused I was, and more alive
Than I had been for years,
I clutched that fellow to my chest
And nibbled on his ears,
He had a fancy uniform
That I quickly slashed and ripped,
It was barely 30 seconds
Till that Fireman was stripped.
My cardiac arrest
Was instantly converted,
When that fellow aimed his hose at me
Cut loose and really squirted,
I bounded to my feet
Feeling totally renewed,
I'm going to tell my aging lady friends
That they should all get screwed.
Well, I've changed my way of thinking
I'm no longer so depressed,
When I need a little excitement
At first I get undressed,
Then, with a helpless cry
I dial 9-1-1,
My Fireman comes quickly
And boy, we have some fun!
Fibril_late; 1997
Dial 9-1-1 (and have some fun)
I'm alive, I can't believe it
I had given up to die,
I'd arranged to kick the frame today
No one cared to ask me why,
I have lived a long eventful life
But foresaw a painful death,
Then I was boldly interrupted
When I took my final breath.
A local family member
Discovered I was prone,
He heard me fall upon the floor
And thought he heard me moan,
In truth, I was rejoicing
It was time for me to run,
Well, then that sucker saved me
He dialed, 9-1-1.
A gorgeous hunk of Fireman
Drove right up to my door,
Assessed the situation
And figured he could score,
Attached me to a monitor
Announcing an arrest,
Resuscitated me, oh, Lord
With massage upon my breast.
Aroused I was, and more alive
Than I had been for years,
I clutched that fellow to my chest
And nibbled on his ears,
He had a fancy uniform
That I quickly slashed and ripped,
It was barely 30 seconds
Till that Fireman was stripped.
My cardiac arrest
Was instantly converted,
When that fellow aimed his hose at me
Cut loose and really squirted,
I bounded to my feet
Feeling totally renewed,
I'm going to tell my aging lady friends
That they should all get screwed.
Well, I've changed my way of thinking
I'm no longer so depressed,
When I need a little excitement
At first I get undressed,
Then, with a helpless cry
I dial 9-1-1,
My Fireman comes quickly
And boy, we have some fun!
Fibril_late; 1997
Thursday, July 12, 2007
On the suicide topic, there was a friend, who was a good husband, father, provider, scholar and accomplished dentist. He took his own life and checked out. I'm not sure why he did this, but he did tell me later not to worry about him, that everything was all right. When the dearly departed speak, what can you do but agree?
The Desperation
I can understand the desperation
that caused you to end your life.
Like turning off a light,
that had already dimmed
and only glowed with a dullness inside.
Crawl into the darkness
knowing without a doubt
there is no tomorrow.
High hopes
dashed upon the rocks of reality,
after a valiant struggle
in the undertow of life
giving up the fight;
alone in the surf.
Fibril_late; 1995
The Desperation
I can understand the desperation
that caused you to end your life.
Like turning off a light,
that had already dimmed
and only glowed with a dullness inside.
Crawl into the darkness
knowing without a doubt
there is no tomorrow.
High hopes
dashed upon the rocks of reality,
after a valiant struggle
in the undertow of life
giving up the fight;
alone in the surf.
Fibril_late; 1995
I'm not the suicide type, but I have on numerous occasions, been the Nurse of the suicide-attempter. What goes through their heads at the special moment? One of the more memorable ones, was an elderly fellow, who shot himself in the chest 5 times and missed all major vessels and heart. All he got out of it, was a new outlook on life and a chest-tube. However, I have written a few poems that examine the process.
Once a Rainbow Garden
Suicide is simple
I'll just drive right off the road,
The world is a heavy place
So I'll lighten up the load,
My life, it feels like madness
I wonder, what's the point of living,
Everyone is taking
I'm worn out, from all the giving.
Fatigue, an evil spirit
Has possessed my inner soul,
What was once a rainbow garden
Is now a dark and musty hole,
Resurrection?; it's unlikely
If circumstances have their way,
Yes, suicide is simple
Because it's just another day.
Fibril_late; 1995
Once a Rainbow Garden
Suicide is simple
I'll just drive right off the road,
The world is a heavy place
So I'll lighten up the load,
My life, it feels like madness
I wonder, what's the point of living,
Everyone is taking
I'm worn out, from all the giving.
Fatigue, an evil spirit
Has possessed my inner soul,
What was once a rainbow garden
Is now a dark and musty hole,
Resurrection?; it's unlikely
If circumstances have their way,
Yes, suicide is simple
Because it's just another day.
Fibril_late; 1995
Thursday, July 05, 2007
4th of July; now the 5th of July, and what am I thinking about - - - - - sadly, this debacle in that Middle-Eastern land that our Leaders have dragged us through. Why should I care? Well number one, I have a close family member, who has this contract with the US Army and they want to take another "vacation" over there in August. Hmmmph! So I started to write this thing which I think is unfinished........care to contribute? I call it:
Slash, Burn and Kill
Call it a political mood
If you will,
The freedom with which our government
Will slash, burn and kill,
(July 4)
And I'm telling you now
That I'm totally pissed,
Our dead brothers and sisters
Will always be missed,
Their lives were given up
So the vultures could feed,
Those mouthfuls of men
With their menu of greed.
(July 6)
Under the guise of terrorism
Beneath the pseudonym of dollars,
The high-priests of capitalism
March in robes and stiff collars,
Spouting worn out sports metaphors
Where a solution always means a new war,
And our newly elected government reps
Are stranded on the shore.
(July 12)
And there are those that weep and moan
And those that wring their hands,
Some others pull their hair out
And plot disaster plans,
But what's the point of doing this
With our current administration,
They are fomenting terrorists as we speak
Planting seeds of devastation.
(July 19)
And still, the media moguls
Spout and print their propaganda,
There is Al Quaeda in our neighborhood
And a terrorist disguised as a Panda,
So the local zoo is cordoned off
The animals polygraphed,
Apparently, there were reports
Bin Laden was "giraffed".
(July 25)
I suspect, it seemed like nonsense
The stanza previously penned,
But the mouthpiece of our gov'ment
Tells us where to begin and end,
Just believe the media voices
As though the christian god hath spoken;
Now just suck-up the latest propaganda
And we thank you for your token.
(7/29/07)
Slash, Burn and Kill
Call it a political mood
If you will,
The freedom with which our government
Will slash, burn and kill,
(July 4)
And I'm telling you now
That I'm totally pissed,
Our dead brothers and sisters
Will always be missed,
Their lives were given up
So the vultures could feed,
Those mouthfuls of men
With their menu of greed.
(July 6)
Under the guise of terrorism
Beneath the pseudonym of dollars,
The high-priests of capitalism
March in robes and stiff collars,
Spouting worn out sports metaphors
Where a solution always means a new war,
And our newly elected government reps
Are stranded on the shore.
(July 12)
And there are those that weep and moan
And those that wring their hands,
Some others pull their hair out
And plot disaster plans,
But what's the point of doing this
With our current administration,
They are fomenting terrorists as we speak
Planting seeds of devastation.
(July 19)
And still, the media moguls
Spout and print their propaganda,
There is Al Quaeda in our neighborhood
And a terrorist disguised as a Panda,
So the local zoo is cordoned off
The animals polygraphed,
Apparently, there were reports
Bin Laden was "giraffed".
(July 25)
I suspect, it seemed like nonsense
The stanza previously penned,
But the mouthpiece of our gov'ment
Tells us where to begin and end,
Just believe the media voices
As though the christian god hath spoken;
Now just suck-up the latest propaganda
And we thank you for your token.
(7/29/07)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Meeting old-time friends can produce the BEST of times. Recently I did this, and it was the best of the best.
A True Friendship
I finally got together
(after 30 years),
With an old-time friend
And we shed some tears,
Of happiness and joy
To see each other again,
Old-time friend I thank you
For holding up your end.
We hadn't changed much
In each other's eyes,
We'd done our share of living
No need for secret pries,
Into the unspoken deeds
That we might have performed,
When I left our brief reacquaintance
My heart was truly warmed.
I hope to see you again
Sooner than three decades,
It's likely that amount of time
Creates more significant fades,
Of memory and tissue
But still we could age with finesse,
Sixty years of lifetime rendered
A true friendship, none the less.
Fibril_late; 6/21/07
A True Friendship
I finally got together
(after 30 years),
With an old-time friend
And we shed some tears,
Of happiness and joy
To see each other again,
Old-time friend I thank you
For holding up your end.
We hadn't changed much
In each other's eyes,
We'd done our share of living
No need for secret pries,
Into the unspoken deeds
That we might have performed,
When I left our brief reacquaintance
My heart was truly warmed.
I hope to see you again
Sooner than three decades,
It's likely that amount of time
Creates more significant fades,
Of memory and tissue
But still we could age with finesse,
Sixty years of lifetime rendered
A true friendship, none the less.
Fibril_late; 6/21/07
We nurses are well known for multi-tasking. If not, we'd never get through our day, and manage all the caregiver issues successfully. I have to admit, I'm far better organized, more timely, punctual, reliable, etc. in the work-setting, than I am at home (Type-A, at work; Type-Z, at home). In my abode and peripheral life, I take a more laissez-faire attitude about things; comme ci, comme ca, c'est la vie. A lot of French to describe, laid-back. What it means in real life, is that I miss a lot of birthdays, anniversaries and what-not in a timely fashion. So, I wrote the following poem yesterday, to cover my hmm, for missing a bunch of those things that were due to my son.
Here it is:
Pretty Lax
I suspect it seems
I'm pretty lax,
About anniversary days
And those family pacts,
That tie the knots
Between generations--
It all is true;
My explanation.
So to settle it out
To narrow the rift,
Please accept
This 20th Century gift.
Fibril_late; 6/20/07
Here it is:
Pretty Lax
I suspect it seems
I'm pretty lax,
About anniversary days
And those family pacts,
That tie the knots
Between generations--
It all is true;
My explanation.
So to settle it out
To narrow the rift,
Please accept
This 20th Century gift.
Fibril_late; 6/20/07
Monday, May 21, 2007
Down In Your Colon
Have you ever wondered
What goes on, down in your colon,
When it feels like those microbes
Have decided to go bowlin',
Why not go see your friendly Doctor
He has an awesome scope and light,
For just a few minutes of your precious time
He'll demonstrate his hindsight.
Fibril_late;
4/82
If you would hang around long enough with the dead, the dying, the sick and maimed, the children and babies, the psychic, religious, atheist and what not, in their time of dire need , occasionally you will witness some qualified “miracles”. My understanding of a miracle, is an event, that goes beyond a scientific explanation, or beyond the means by which we “see” the causative agent of the extraordinary event. I know there are many energies of the spectrum of physics, whereby we do not yet have instruments sensitive or sophisticated enough, to measure either their wavelength, or their power, effect or influence. Heck, that’s why we have scientists to work on that stuff. In the meantime, I’ve seen enough to keep any skeptic, busy refuting my experiences!
The Skeptical Man
The skeptical man
A doubter is he,
Show him a flower
He says, "Prove it to me",
Tell him you've experienced
Lo, none but a miracle,
Still he won't believe it
Unless it's empirical.
Fibril_late;
5/82
Here I butcher the English language with lame rhymes.
Ream, Ream, Ream
The heart attacks
The myocardium,
Says, look out son
I beg your pardium,
But you’re in my way
This ain’t no dreamya,
Havin’ tonight
It’s really ischemia.
Call the Surgeons
Page the team,
Let’s take out your arteries
And ream, ream, ream.
Fibril_late;
5/82
Sneezing; some people have a quiet little mousy sneeze. Me - it’s like Mt. Vesuvius blowing it’s top. Now, imagine doing that with a strep-throat; yes, pure agony!
The Sneeze
There are moments like these
That I’m glad I don’t sneeze,
It’s so peaceful and quiet
And a sneeze would deny it,
Not to mention my throat
That is now, sore and tender,
I can imagine the pain
That a sneeze would surrender.
Fibril_late;
1978
Have you ever wondered
What goes on, down in your colon,
When it feels like those microbes
Have decided to go bowlin',
Why not go see your friendly Doctor
He has an awesome scope and light,
For just a few minutes of your precious time
He'll demonstrate his hindsight.
Fibril_late;
4/82
If you would hang around long enough with the dead, the dying, the sick and maimed, the children and babies, the psychic, religious, atheist and what not, in their time of dire need , occasionally you will witness some qualified “miracles”. My understanding of a miracle, is an event, that goes beyond a scientific explanation, or beyond the means by which we “see” the causative agent of the extraordinary event. I know there are many energies of the spectrum of physics, whereby we do not yet have instruments sensitive or sophisticated enough, to measure either their wavelength, or their power, effect or influence. Heck, that’s why we have scientists to work on that stuff. In the meantime, I’ve seen enough to keep any skeptic, busy refuting my experiences!
The Skeptical Man
The skeptical man
A doubter is he,
Show him a flower
He says, "Prove it to me",
Tell him you've experienced
Lo, none but a miracle,
Still he won't believe it
Unless it's empirical.
Fibril_late;
5/82
Here I butcher the English language with lame rhymes.
Ream, Ream, Ream
The heart attacks
The myocardium,
Says, look out son
I beg your pardium,
But you’re in my way
This ain’t no dreamya,
Havin’ tonight
It’s really ischemia.
Call the Surgeons
Page the team,
Let’s take out your arteries
And ream, ream, ream.
Fibril_late;
5/82
Sneezing; some people have a quiet little mousy sneeze. Me - it’s like Mt. Vesuvius blowing it’s top. Now, imagine doing that with a strep-throat; yes, pure agony!
The Sneeze
There are moments like these
That I’m glad I don’t sneeze,
It’s so peaceful and quiet
And a sneeze would deny it,
Not to mention my throat
That is now, sore and tender,
I can imagine the pain
That a sneeze would surrender.
Fibril_late;
1978
Sunday, May 20, 2007
There are those days where I'd much rather be somewhere else, enjoying nature, rather than dodging bacteria. In the end, you have to make the best of any situation I guess.
You know
Moments like these,
I'd rather be
Amidst the flowers and trees,
Wandering aimlessly about
In some predetermined direction,
Instead, I'm back in town
Surrounded by disease and infection.
I may as well
Make the most of it all,
Relieve some suffering
Answer that call,
Send someone home
And heal one or two,
And as for the rest
I'll leave them for you.
Fibril_late;
7/81
You know
Moments like these,
I'd rather be
Amidst the flowers and trees,
Wandering aimlessly about
In some predetermined direction,
Instead, I'm back in town
Surrounded by disease and infection.
I may as well
Make the most of it all,
Relieve some suffering
Answer that call,
Send someone home
And heal one or two,
And as for the rest
I'll leave them for you.
Fibril_late;
7/81
A nearly ancient poem, just unearthed from 1982, regarding the dilemma of mental illness.
Derailed Thoughts
You know, when you're driving home
And it seems like the same old way
But suddenly, you're lost, and you find
You're across the border;
Well, that must be something like
The fellow with a mental disorder.
Derailed thoughts
Like a telegraph line
With its wires crossed.
It doesn't matter if you remember
Where your home is;
You're still getting lost.
So, what can you do?
Find an alternate route
Or maybe get a new map
Or get a mobile home -
Then you'll always be there.
Fibril_late;
10/82
Derailed Thoughts
You know, when you're driving home
And it seems like the same old way
But suddenly, you're lost, and you find
You're across the border;
Well, that must be something like
The fellow with a mental disorder.
Derailed thoughts
Like a telegraph line
With its wires crossed.
It doesn't matter if you remember
Where your home is;
You're still getting lost.
So, what can you do?
Find an alternate route
Or maybe get a new map
Or get a mobile home -
Then you'll always be there.
Fibril_late;
10/82
Friday, May 11, 2007
Deep, so deep; bedrock deep!
The Wisdom in the Stones
I sat upon the bluff last night
And looked across the canyon,
I deliberated destiny
As I was my own companion,
The sunset spread across the sky
In a thousand colored tones,
Ancient voices echoed from the walls
The wisdom in the stones.
The evidence of centuries erosion
I have touched,
The absolute infinity of loving
I have clutched,
The tenderness of kindness
Presented by a friend,
These are things that have beginnings
But never have an end.
Fibril_late; 1994
The Wisdom in the Stones
I sat upon the bluff last night
And looked across the canyon,
I deliberated destiny
As I was my own companion,
The sunset spread across the sky
In a thousand colored tones,
Ancient voices echoed from the walls
The wisdom in the stones.
The evidence of centuries erosion
I have touched,
The absolute infinity of loving
I have clutched,
The tenderness of kindness
Presented by a friend,
These are things that have beginnings
But never have an end.
Fibril_late; 1994
A look at religious conservatism and something else about reading the words that others write and how we interpret those words.
Original Sin
Original man
Original sin,
Original scriptures
That won't let you in.
Original hate
Original fear,
Original prejudice
That won't let you near.
These are the beliefs
To which many subscribe,
Content in their place
As the original tribe.
Fibril_late; 1994
Ideas and Themes
Letters written
Letters sent,
You wonder what
The writer meant,
Interpretation
Requires constraint,
If you don't understand
The painters' paint.
Flexibility
Is the answer,
Like my imaginary
Dancer,
Leaping about
Ideas and themes,
Interpret them
Just like my dreams.
What it means
Can change with time,
Today a blessing
Tomorrow a crime,
Read with care
And intuition,
Allow flexibility
In your rendition.
Fibril_late; 1994
Original Sin
Original man
Original sin,
Original scriptures
That won't let you in.
Original hate
Original fear,
Original prejudice
That won't let you near.
These are the beliefs
To which many subscribe,
Content in their place
As the original tribe.
Fibril_late; 1994
Ideas and Themes
Letters written
Letters sent,
You wonder what
The writer meant,
Interpretation
Requires constraint,
If you don't understand
The painters' paint.
Flexibility
Is the answer,
Like my imaginary
Dancer,
Leaping about
Ideas and themes,
Interpret them
Just like my dreams.
What it means
Can change with time,
Today a blessing
Tomorrow a crime,
Read with care
And intuition,
Allow flexibility
In your rendition.
Fibril_late; 1994
Monday, May 07, 2007
Here is a timeless rant about plundering governments.
Tragedy
Tragedy struck
On the street today,
A government collapsed
Many lives at play,
Innocent people
Slaughtered and maimed,
The propaganda machine
Says who should be blamed.
Tragedy struck
And families are broken,
Long promised freedoms
Are now but a token,
While deals made by men
Who wager with death,
Leave innocents gasping
For a last, dying breath.
Tragedy is felt
Far away from that place,
For the hundreds that died
I see but one face,
The tragedy occurs
When power fuels greed,
And the desires of a few
Overshadow what they need.
Fibril_late; 1994
Tragedy
Tragedy struck
On the street today,
A government collapsed
Many lives at play,
Innocent people
Slaughtered and maimed,
The propaganda machine
Says who should be blamed.
Tragedy struck
And families are broken,
Long promised freedoms
Are now but a token,
While deals made by men
Who wager with death,
Leave innocents gasping
For a last, dying breath.
Tragedy is felt
Far away from that place,
For the hundreds that died
I see but one face,
The tragedy occurs
When power fuels greed,
And the desires of a few
Overshadow what they need.
Fibril_late; 1994
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Last post, April 15th? That's kind of hard to believe; after all, I started out with the lofty dream of blogging QD. Daily living, got in the way. I tell people I am a semi-retired nurse. Funny, even the nurses who have gone on to other careers, can never let go of this nursing thing, if they pursued it for 2 decades, like myself. I think it's an inborn genetic trait; it underlies all things.
Anyway, a few weeks have passed, too many daily distractions, so I delve into the "daily poems" that occurred alongside my health-care writings back in the day. There is so much to cover.
"Beyond Common Tradition" was about someone, who I can no longer recall; nonetheless, memorable in the retelling.
Beyond Common Tradition
Hers was a life
Of which legends are made,
She was born in the sun
And retired in the shade,
But somewhere in between
There was a fabulous rendition,
An exemplary existence
Beyond common tradition.
Her family was conservative
She always did her best,
Just follow Mom and Daddy's course
It's safe within the nest,
But it didn't fill her up inside
It left her, feeling hollow,
And though they knew she loved them
She had a different star to follow.
Though I use the word conservative
Her parents had great knowledge,
They encouraged all their children
To attend some kind of college,
Knowing that the value comes
In exploring brand new themes,
Then taking the experience
To carry out their dreams.
Her dreams were like a ball of yarn
Just waiting to unravel,
With just a little push, she rolled
Into the world of travel,
Returning now and then
Bearing gifts of life and laughter,
And then a dream would sprout again
Which she'd be chasing after.
A legend in her own time
Within the family tree,
When pressed for explanations
She'd say, "Because it's me".
Fibril_late; 1984
Anyway, a few weeks have passed, too many daily distractions, so I delve into the "daily poems" that occurred alongside my health-care writings back in the day. There is so much to cover.
"Beyond Common Tradition" was about someone, who I can no longer recall; nonetheless, memorable in the retelling.
Beyond Common Tradition
Hers was a life
Of which legends are made,
She was born in the sun
And retired in the shade,
But somewhere in between
There was a fabulous rendition,
An exemplary existence
Beyond common tradition.
Her family was conservative
She always did her best,
Just follow Mom and Daddy's course
It's safe within the nest,
But it didn't fill her up inside
It left her, feeling hollow,
And though they knew she loved them
She had a different star to follow.
Though I use the word conservative
Her parents had great knowledge,
They encouraged all their children
To attend some kind of college,
Knowing that the value comes
In exploring brand new themes,
Then taking the experience
To carry out their dreams.
Her dreams were like a ball of yarn
Just waiting to unravel,
With just a little push, she rolled
Into the world of travel,
Returning now and then
Bearing gifts of life and laughter,
And then a dream would sprout again
Which she'd be chasing after.
A legend in her own time
Within the family tree,
When pressed for explanations
She'd say, "Because it's me".
Fibril_late; 1984
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