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

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

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

The Teacher

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Whiney Scale

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

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

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

Fibril_late; 1997

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

I'm an Oozer

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

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

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

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

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

Fibril_late; 1998

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

Someone Dies

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

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

Fibril_late; 1994

Central Line Changes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fibril_late: 1995

Never Say Dye

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

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

Fibril-late; 1995

Breathless

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

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

Fibril_late; 1994

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

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

Todays headline, and comments.

The Biggest Asshole

"Doctors find no cancer in Bush's polyps"
Proof that cancer prevention is their role,
However, doctors did state they had found
Quite clearly the worlds biggest asshole.

Fibril_late; 7/23/07

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

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

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

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)

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

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

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