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

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

Memory; what it you lost it?

I Don't Remember

I know I must be someone
But I don't remember who,
I have a job somewhere
But I don't know what I do,
I have some friends and family
But I don't know who they are,
I would find them if I could, you know
But I cannot find my car.

Fibril_late;
12/82

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

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

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

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

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

Back in the early '90's, I made the acquaintance of a fine nurse and nationally recognized educator, named Deborah Tuggle, RN. I attended many of her classes, worked with her a few times at one of the local ICU's and was a contributor of some poems for one of her CCRN classes. I just stumbled over my drafts for those poems and thought I'd do a little
21st-century revising and revisiting. I will load up the whole pie in this entry, as it has been more than a couple weeks since I posted last.

SVT versus TFS

Is it aberration or ectopy
S.V.T. or T.F.S.?
Sometimes I get, so darned confused
I quit, with just a guess,
I get so doggone overwhelmed
I can't recall my name,
Does it really matter in the end
Or would the outcome be the same?
I swear I think my "idiot-factor"
Has increased, by more than double,
Ever since I took that class
From the famous Mrs. Tuggle.

Let's examine a scenario
To illustrate my point,
My shift is all but over
I'm about to leave the joint,
When abruptly, I'm assaulted
By alarms and lights galore,
My patients' heart has gone whacko
(Now I'll have to chart some more),
His rhythm is wide and ugly
So I race down to his room,
My tunnel vision activates
The flashing lights spell doom.

Is he conscious?
Is he dead?
(Is he even in the bed)?
Should I stop a sec and clock him
Or just go ahead and shock him?
No, no….hey, I'm a pro
I've taken Tuggle's course,
He's fine for now….I'll stop and think
My memory, I will force.

I'll check a few key leads
Before I treat this guy tonight,
Is it S.V.T. or T.F.S.
Or Wolff, Parkinson and White?
Does a delta wave announce itself
Or remain concealed and silent?
Is it simply an aberrancy
Or something else more violent?
Is the phenomena reentry
Are the P-waves retrograde?
Does the AV node dissociate
Or do P-waves simply fade?
Is the axis indeterminate
Is it normal, left or right?
Is V1 looking up or down
Is the R-wave broad or tight?
What else was I supposed to check
What else did teacher say?
My God, that woman drives me nuts
I don't care anyway!

There's just, too much to think about
It's too much to recall,
These silly EKG rules
Are just no fun at all!
You know, he looks a whole lot worse
Let's just forget the clues,
I think that I should shock him now
And end these rhythm blues!
So I hit him with some macrovolts
To turn his rate around,
His body jerked right off the bed
He moaned a frightful sound.

Despite his pain and suffering
His rhythm was reversed,
He was mad as hell I zapped him
And announced that I'd been cursed,
In the end, what only mattered
Did I fixed him or did I not?
I halted decompensation
Plus all my nerves are shot!
But was it V-Tach or SVT
Or was it really T.F.S.?
That Tuggle Frustration Syndrome
Is the cause of my distress!

p. hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

Advanced Certification Blues

It's a lot of stress and worry
A major pain in the neck.
Some nurses want to do it
To enhance their weekly check,
Then others seek a challenge
To prove their skills exist,
Or to correct a prior-exam upset
To right the wrongs they missed.

Anxiety commences
Before beginning class,
We're talking, major chunks of money
To ensure you're going to pass,
And what if you should flop
Despite this education,
Your self-esteem will under go
Its' final degradation.

You can see the task is mighty
For the dedicated teacher,
They must ignite your feeble spirit
Like a fire and brimstone preacher,
And cast aside the devils
Of ignorance and fears,
Hoping you'll be back to take
Their class in three more years.

p. hupp 1991
rev: 2007

Balloon Pump

When your heart doesn't want to thump
It's time for an aortic-balloon pump,
It squirts the blood back, retrograde
To reduce the myocardial fade,
It unloads the diastolic side
And improves the coronary glide,
It has many complications, though
You could lose a foot, a leg or toe,
Or if a clot, by chance should travel
Some precious organ might unravel,
It could migrate up into your head
And though we saved your heart,
You'd still be dead.

p.hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

Neuro Learning

You used to think that Parkinsons
Was a place to buy your clothes,
And Babinski was a guy
That manicured your toes,
You thought a Grand-mal seizure
Was a grocery store arrest,
And a thing called quantal squander
Was a competency test.

And by now your cerebellum
Has tremors from the strain,
From cramming unrelated
Facts into your brain,
And you suspect your C.P.P.*
Is dangerously low,
From an obscure malformation
Redirecting neural flow.

But how fortunate for you
Your condition is benign,
All you have to do is study
And memorize each line,
Then the words will fall into place
Into memories, defined,
And despite your greatest worries
You've intellectualized your mind.

p. hupp, 1991
rev. 2007

Addison's Prices

No matter where you're going
No matter where you've been,
Make sure you don't ignore
The system Endocrine.

Back in the days
Of James Madison,
Came the naming of diseases
Like Addison;
One day he was shopping
For some coffee and tea,
He had a jones for some brew
(Though it always made him pee),
But he went into shock
When he saw the prices,
And thus begat
Addisonian crisis!
Hypotension
And hyperkalemia,
Pigmentation
And hyponatremia,
Dextrose and saline
For fluid revival,
Corticosteroids
For long term survival.

Don't sit around
Debating the cause,
This Addison's beast
Has some serious claws,
So if you treat it rapidly
With the latest regime,
Impending death
Will be yesterdays dream,

Don't be a doubter
A skeptic or a cynic,
Make follow-up appointments
And we'll see you in the clinic.

p. hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

G.I.

G.I. troubles
What a mess,
Gastric bleeders
I confess,
Turn my stomach
There's no doubt,
When their blood
Comes gushing out.

An acute abdomen
Or ugly bowels,
Causes people
To scream in vowels,
Call the doctor
And sharpen the knife,
It's their only
Chance for life.

Hepato this
And chole that,
Secretory
Neighbors chat,
Liver function
Out of kilter,
Won't detoxify
Or filter.

Massive ascites
Ain't no fun,
You look like a pumpkin
In the sun,
Tap the belly
Before it blows,
Ascites fluid
All over your clothes,
Kaexalate
All day on the crapper,
This is the song
Of the liver-failure rapper.

p. hupp; 1991
ref. 2007

Ketoacidosis

The acidosis diabeatus
Is not a crisis of the fetus,
It's most often those
Who are type one,
Deficient
In their insulin.

The fatty acids accumulate
Producing a keto-acid state,
A greater than fifteen
Anion gap,
Encourages their
Lungs to flap,
To dissociate carbonic acid
Meanwhile this dude, is totally flaccid.

When the patient
Is dehydrated,
Electrolytes
Become concentrated,
Aggressive treatment
Is required,
Before the victims'
Heart gets tired.

Insulin and fluids free
I.V. route most rapidly,
Check the glucose every hour
So the treatment won't go sour.
Discharge plan?
To educate;
To prevent a similar
Repeat date.

p. hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

The Big Test

The night before the test next day
There's a trepidation creeping,
A few will burn the midnight oil
To study, instead of sleeping,
Some others actually go to bed
Yet their sleep will be forsaken,
They'll toss and turn the whole night through
Afraid they won't awaken,
To the din of 17 alarm clocks
Placed strategically around the room,
So they get up in the morning
With a foreboding sense of doom.

What kind of clothes
Do you wear to this test?
Should you go as a slob
Or dress in your best,
If you give it little thought
And leave it up to chance,
Before you leave the house
Make sure you have your pants.

The test is always on Saturday
So you are the only commuter,
You spend the whole drive dreaming
That you owned a mini-computer,
Hidden in the glove-box
With a modem in your ear,
Then you'd be the only scholar
With a perfect score this year.

Outside the somber testing place
Small groups of nurses collect,
Presenting each other with questions
With the hope they will choose what's correct,
When faced with a similar topic
On the test, they will soon undergo,
The moment of truth can be merciless
When you realize how little you know.
___________

The exam is really over?
You can't believe it's finished,
The results will come in about two months
But your worries haven't diminished,
Because now you dwell on the questions
Where you clearly had no clue,
And since the test is behind you
There's not a damn thing you can do.

You might pray to your Gods and your Goddesses
To grant you just one small request,
Sacrifice a lamb and rub that rabbits foot
To guarantee that you passed the darn test.

p. hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

Necrotizing Needlepoint

Perhaps you thought that breathing
Was a commonplace event,
And the term, "A dime sized lesion"
Was just money that you spent,
Did you think that hypoxemia
Was a viral titer test,
Or that tracheal malacia
Was a common household pest?

Did you know that bronchiectasis
Hung out with atelectasis?
Or grasp that wheezing airways
Were often found on stairways?

Don't ignore that pneumothorax
Muffled breath sounds are a clue,
A deviated trachea
Accompanies it too,
Hypoxemia develops
Mental confusion in the head,
You better place that chest-tube quick
Or this fellow will soon be dead.

Hospital-acquired pneumonia
Is the going thing today,
If you never wash your hands
You'll put a lot of them in play,
And the antibiotic resistant bugs
Will thank you for the chance,
To do their necrotizing needlepoint
At the pseudomonas dance.
Joe Camel has retired
But advertisers never quit,
Pre-teen little Bobby smokes
His cool factor is up a bit,
In health class he just snickers
Tarry lungs, no that ain't me,
In forty years he'll curse the beast
We know as C.O.P.D.

p. hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

Blood Cell Party

The white cells attack foreign proteins
The red cells just go with the flow,
The platelets are seen stuck together
On their way to a matinee show,
It's a film about tubules and solutes
Of osmo's and creatinine clearance,
It adds up to only one thing
A very confusing appearance.

The syndrome of I.A.D.H.
The SED rate and left-to-right shift,
Require the proper translation
Before you catch on to their drift,
But sooner or later the meaning
Will find itself well understood,
When these systems are all out of kilter
The outcome won't look very good.

p. hupp; 1991
rev. 2007

Another reawakening, an eye-opener of realization. I wrote about it back in 1995, and now a recent issue of a local Nursing magazine, has substantiated what I feared back then; Nursing is burying itself in "after-the-name-titles identified with mysterious letter combinations", where everyone and anyone, has to make their little stamp of recognition. It seems so childish to me. Who gives a rats-ass? Why not just show the RN, and then carry around a little card with all your extra-special, super-duper, ain't they awesome, look what I did, credentials identified by their "letters" and what the heck it all means. Stop giving me a headache, every time I pick up some nursing literature, Ok?

And this is just the beginning! Stay tuned for the latest interpretations.

Toxic Credential Syndrome

I was present at a seminar
Just the other day,
Presented by some experts
They captured me all day,
Enthralled I was, I must admit
Astounded, I confess,
I learned some facts I never knew
But I pause, and now digress.

What captured my attention
Were the credentials after each name,
Without a glossary to help me
I was almost put to shame,
When I realized no one else
Would know the meanings, either,
I silently relaxed
And took a little breather.

Little do these experts know
They have a sickness; it's incurable,
Toxic Credential Syndrome
Rarely, is insurable,
It's a chronic, life disorder
Of self-substantiation,
Seeking after-name initials
That defy interpretation.

After days of in-depth study
And cryptogram decoding,
I almost had the cypher, but
I felt my mind eroding,
The breakthrough came, when I was sitting
Upon the holy throne,
While bearing down, I visualized
A new Rosetta stone.

My interpretations
Are that and nothing more,
Other scholars may follow me
But I warn them, it's a chore,
Fellow collaborators
Have chosen to stay unnamed,
I understand their reluctance
The risk of being blamed.

I may become notorious
Denounced, more likely banned,
But I have my convictions
And have to take a stand,
The TCS condition
Is a threat to any nurse,
Should this research halt their suffering
I will gladly bear the curse.

Fibril_late; 12/95

Remember when we all laughed about that silly "Valley Girl" song, by Frank Zappa. It was filled with all those juvenile forms of speech such as:
Like, He's like, I'm like,……
As if
Ya know
Bitchin'
Totally Rad
Oh my God……

Now our whole flippin' society talks in this manner. The problem I see, is that when professionals speak this way, it makes them at best, appear poorly educated and at worst, just blathering idiots. So, there I was at some ACLS course and the physician instructor kept saying, "If you will" with a smattering of "ya know's" thrown in (like, every sentence, and it was not even, totally, like rad). Word.


Listen Carefully To Speech

"If you will", please let me clarify
A point of worthy status,
"If you will", I'm very tired
Of catchy phrase-like flatus,
"If you will", is touted daily
From the mouths of modern man,
"If you will", is like, I mean, ya know
Over and over again.

If this is too confusing
Listen carefully to speech,
Repetitive terms, like um, it's all
Are enough to make you screech,
The continual daily bombardment
Of sloppy vocal expression,
May undermine the professional
Leaving a less than desirable impression.

Fibril_late; 12/95

More about cost-cutting and budget cuts.

A Dangerous Method of Efficiency

Casting caution to the wind
Making budget cuts galore,
It's a dangerous method of efficiency
Kicking your people out the door.

Our industry needs to be streamlined
With careful consideration and pride,
Unlike the methods you see today
Which is technically suicide.

Fibril_late; 12/95

Some thoughts about the final destination: Death.

What it Means To Die

I sought a definition
Of what it means to die,
I asked for a description
And then I pleaded, why,
A man might suffer needlessly
While his life-force slowly drains,
A victim of this system
And our God-almighty brains,
How we can define atomic physics
Or support the gasping breath,
Yet we shudder when we're faced
With the choice of life or death.

Afterlife, what's after death
What goes on beyond the after breath,
It is a question, understood by few
While even less, know what to do,
In a world of increasing technicality
We grapple with our ultimate finality,
Exactly where this road may lead us next
Can not be found in any medical text.

We seek a lot of answers
To define our own morality,
When at the bottom of it all
We fear our own mortality.

Fibril_late; 12/95

Who would think 12 years ago, that we'd now be viewing a television reality-show, covering the life and slices of a young, rich, Beverly Hills Plastic surgeon (and all the customized men and women plopping down the big bux for a new shape or look)?!?

My Belly Button

I am currently recovering;
I had my belly-button moved,
I never liked the way
It puckered and it grooved,
I began to think about
The way my ears are tweaked,
And how I hate my natural nose
Because it's sort of beaked.

I called the Plastic Surgeon
And he offered me a deal,
So the next time that you see me
I'll have some sex appeal;
Isn't it great, we have the chance
To change the way we appear,
Because life would be so boring
If we looked the same each year.

Fibril_late; 12/95

Probably once a year, there would be a family so dysfunctional, screwed up, and angry, they would literally be fighting over the estate of the poor fellow who was at the precipice of his journey into the afterlife. It was so disheartening to see such consummate selfishness at play. Thus begat,

The Family

A dying patient's family, can
Do more harm than good, I assure you man,
While contesting the contents of his will
They're hovering closer for the kill,
They may be harboring hidden guilt
About the time the milk was spilt,
Then clutch at every thread of life
And claim it's for his loving wife,
When life support, becomes death denial
He feel like he's been put on trial,
He wonders what his crime must be -
The poor fool had a family!

Fibril_late; 12/95

Another trip to the Dentist. Everybody got excited when they thought I was having angina; me, I was awakened out of a reverie, dreaming about the dental assistant.

Mondo Pick

I gazed upon, your lithe and limber
While the novacaine was spreading,
Under your hypnotic gaze
I almost started shedding.

Your ever smiling sidekick
With her subtle perfumed pose,
Calibrated instruments
While I began to doze.

Is a I dreamed a tale of triplicate
My arm began to ache,
I wondered, "Is it Memorex"
Or is this feeling fake,
The dental crew began to play
A game of different rules,
They checked my mouth for hardware
Or any missing tools,
Perhaps a stainless Mondo pick
Was lodged behind a filling,
The office girls placed wagers
While I tossed in a shilling.

It all worked out, without a glitch
My Dentist has it down,
She liberated my decay
And left me with a crown.

Fibril_late;
12/95

Whoa; I lost a whole week in illness. Felt like I picked up one of those virulent strains and deposited it into my lungs, to see how tough I was. Not tough enough!

So, back to the chronicles of the underside. Here is a tale about a coworker making the transition, following a promotion to a position of higher authority. Kings are not made in a day.

A New Title

You once were a friend
A comrade at work,
You earned a promotion
And now you're a jerk,
Afraid to lost control
Of your acquired dominion,
A perfectionist at heart
You don't want an opinion.

We continue to be equals
No, you're not our God,
Your power of office
Is just a façade,
A couple more initials
Written after your name,
You have to read the rules
If you want to play the game.

Rule number one, is
"Little has changed",
You get a new title
Yes, that was arranged,
You henceforth are known as
An Assistant Head Nurse,
It's up to you to make it
A blessing or a curse.

Rule number two, is
"Remember your roots",
Your fellow staff-nurses
Are not the dust off your boots,
We're equals, remember
On whom you depend,
Treat us like dirt
And that will soon end.

Rule number three, is
"Be a student of history",
To become a great leader
Is no longer a mystery,
Practice fairness and respect
You will earn it in return,
Or be a control freak
And watch it all burn.

Fibril_late; 10/95

"Active Listening", I'm sure you've heard about that much-hyped tool of communication. It goes something like this. Bob: I hate my dog. Mary: I hear you say, you hate your dog. At this point Bob wonders, what is the matter with this woman; does she need her head examined?
Well anyway, I probably simplified this complex mechanism of truth seeking, but it's right up there on my list of the Top 10 worst ways to carry on a real conversation. As soon as I hear a person speaking like that, I automatically tune them out.

As a matter of note, I also clump this into the list of useless Nursing tricks, along with Care Plans with their "special" nursing language. Doctor Dude writes, SOB, or short of breath. Nurse Clump has to write, "Impaired Gas Exchange". Take it from me, if you stand downwind of Nurse Clump, you will clearly discover there is no impairment in her gas exchange, and quite frankly you will be S.O.B. too. I suspect most of these Useless Nursing Tricks are devised by underpaid Nurse Researchers. More on this another day, ok?

Back to the main topic of Active Listening:

The Wilderness of Speech

Active listening, is one of those things
That is destroying this life, as we know it,
Repeating the works that the other one said
Prompts me to tell them to "stow it",
It doesn't feel right to me, I will admit
It isn't a part of my vernacular,
And I have a suspicion that the active adepts
Undoubtedly feel quite oracular.

It's touted quite often, by communication experts
As a fabulous, simplified tool,
But who has the guts, to agree with me here
Just who are they trying to fool?
It sounds too damned phony, I'm not put at ease
By the smooth talking, active practitioner,
I'm a small voice of protest
In the wilderness of speech,
Wondering who is the language commissioner?

Fibril_late; 10/95

Here is an oddball rhyme that I didn't write. A colleague comments about their aged, female poodle and her stinky habits. Actually, if you will read a couple of days back, this certainly falls into line with the topic of Nursing Research.

"Case Study: Canine Sexual Deprivation Resulting in a Perverse Desire to Consume Bananas and the Effects on Owners of Said Dog":

You know the virgin sturgeon
The Virgin Mary too,
Now may I introduce to you
The virgin Suki-poo?

Some have expensive toys
Or discount fantasy,
But Suki states (naively)
"Bananas are for me".

Bananas have a friendly
Compliant sort of way,
They're always firm and ready
For Suk's indulgent day.

With teeth now old, but eager
She masticates the pulp,
It forms a little bolus
She swallows in a gulp.

But gone is not forgotten
The fruit did not depart,
At six o'clock that evening
It comes back as a fart.

This precious Virgin doggie
Groomed, trimmed, and spayed, so fair,
Enjoys her sweet revenge
As she permeates the air.

And so, ye doggie owners
Take warning from this tale,
Leave those ovaries intact
And get yourself a male.

K.B., RN
10/95

It's totally gross! Don't read it if you just had a meal. Wait, hold on; if you're a nurse, of course you can stomach it, because you've seen something just like it - maybe only 5 minutes ago. No doubt you were momentarily taken by surprise, until you realized it was only..................

Activated Goo Blobs

Genital yeast farm
As a gross-out, it’s top notch,
Crawling in the linen
Growing in the crotch.

Activated goo blobs
Multiplying every hour,
When your shift is over
Be sure to take a shower.

Proceed at your own risk
When you travel in the area,
Wear protective clothing
It’s a lot worse than malaria.

Dark forces are at work
And the humidity is prime,
In our antibiotic wasteland
You can grow some killer slime.

Resistant cream cheese exudate
Its quality can’t be beat,
With genetic engineering
It might be good enough to eat.

Fibril_late; 9/95