Thursday, May 24, 2018
Bristols
-I went from Bristol Stomp to Bristol Chart!
-Clever enough. Best to stop there.
-Or from Merrie Olde to…?
-You were warned! Bristol in the song
is in Pennsylvania!
-Can’t be! Wouldn’t fit in my brilliant compendium!
-You won’t hafta rethink Chart. Knowing your erratic bowels, got that right!
-Ah the nature of what I get straight nowadays!
-Characteristics of various poops with
photos in various browns--mostly. Aesthetics is wonnerful!
-Not many songs about growing old, except the sloppy sentimental.
-The body presents most problems clearly.
-Not to say clinically.
-Too! So much that some folks opt out.
-Overdoses most common in that sad gang!
-Fight on! Courage wasted on the young anyway.
-Isn’t everything?
Labels: age, bowels, Bristol, medical, youth
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Descending
Kept going.
Making repair trying for surgeons
buzzing at his sure inch-
ing by. He
ing by. He
ended as feet. Flab-
bag leaning high
above like
cartoon
balloon.
Labels: medical, operation, physical collapse, surgeon
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
The Man Who Researched
And not a new thing for him, what with
computers. For he had journals full of
notes in small handwriting also.
Most of his self-referential probing
took on a medical bent. His finding
out about the diseases he had or
imagined he had.
All very neatly filed in his den.
No harm, no foul.
Until...
What is the worst or best such a private
being could do?
He got married.
No interest in females apparent before.
So there you have it.
What he had, then, was his research library
in a dirt sub basement of the house
they moved to.
There he developed a cough...but he's
not really on his way out.
And his wife not the ogre who assigned him
there either. For they soon had a contractor
in to rebuild his den, even adding
lovely paneling.
There he could do his internet research
and print out the results. And its own
climate system cured his cough.
That part of the house belonged to him,
the more old-fashioned parts, his wife.
That such a disparate couple got along
amazed the neighbors.
In his medical sector, he was soon moderating
complaining quarrels between cranks.
Some on Skype.
Oh yes, his occupation. Allied. He wrote copy
for physicians' brochures.
Another great change!--if you regard marriage
as the first: Joined a group from the office
buying Philadelphia Eagles Season Tickets.
Did you know, for example, that during World
War Two, the teams from Pittsburgh and Philly
combined into the Steagles?
Steelers+Eagles.
He, of course, found this out, as well as
a million other facts. He dedicated a special
i-Pad to the subject and draped a corner
of the den with green banners and blankets.
She encouraged him to invite the fellows
to watch TV there for the away games.
And dressed in green football jersey and
micro shorts herself.
Her example prompted the men to invite
girlfriends and wives.
Soon, 37 Ogden Circle a noisy place
of certain Sundays.
But, did our researcher neglect his
original subject of disease?
In becoming genial and laughing host?
Who could believe it? Yes! Yes!
Labels: football, marriage, medical, medical research, obsession, Philadelphia Eagles
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Monitors Like Flowers
Horch certainly ran an information cubicle.
Monitored to the max, all the figures spilling
in every direction.
It had once been window dressing, of course,
for the famous O'Leary.
Who never worked, and retired normally.
Horch worked continuously, and now
added a white monitor.
We called his cubicle, then, The Hospital.
So he monitored, too, all the numbers
and graphs etc of his physical and
mental being.
We could hear him muttering when his
metabolism flew a bit.
"Better breathe, sit down a moment!"
We were all sitting down for restorative
moments at that time, for we had lost the
super important Switzky Account.
Well, anyway, to look at Horch outside
the cubicle...normal-looking guy.
Even a bit of fun to him.
Until the day his face turned bright
powder blue.
Was it a side effect of new prostate pills?
“You want the simple explanation, or the
simpler one?” asked Daldad.
Opted for the latter.
“Watch National Geographic on monkeys or chimps
or whatever. That the face of one, anyway. Don't
you see?” he almost pleaded. "His girlfriend made
a monkey outa him!"
Well, she had left. All his med readings were off.
Daldad phoned her on the sly to see if she could help.
At first she said "I woudn't give him the sweat off my...!"
But Daldad is persuasive, and she sent Horch a dried
fruit wheel from Harry and David, with the note. "I must
be free. I know you understand. You are so beautifully
supportive!"
His face toned down gradually and is now just tinged
the lightest powder blue.
Bottom line: the company specializes in agitation,
so the new CEO ordered all medical monitoring
to cease. "Making staff a bunch of hypochodriacs!"
We had a litmus paper client, so she didn't
object to those tests.
Horch has gone mad in touching various parts
of himself periodically.
I give credit to us all, though, in that RP is
scrupulously observed.
Rectal Privacy.
Labels: hypochondriac, litmus, medical, monitors, monkey, office, rectal, relationship
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Checking Up
-Whoa! I'm not Bucksey!
-Of course not! Fellow with same last name
as yours insists we call him that. But, don't
worry, because it's your voluminous medical
file I have before me.
-No nicknames in my family. Ever! The children
addressed by first and middle always. With,
naturally, Father, Father, and Mother, Mother!
-Did you get a sense of structure, order?
-Might have if it wasn't daily chaos.
-Well, everybody tried.
-No semblance of order until Father died.
Then my mother married another woman.
-How did that make you feel?
-That's the psychiatrist's question!
-We borrow liberally.
-Why isn’t this stuff digital?
-We tried, but were immediately sued.
-Epidemic around here.
Labels: computer, doctor, gay marriage, Law, litigious, medical, medical records
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Seasoned Medical Complaints
-(shouts) Don't say hello again! Put the phone to your good ear!
-Hello? Oh, I don't mean that. I'm hearing you loud and clear.
-Which practitioner are you complaining about today? Obviously
not an ear person.
-Never mind! I'm seeing the Cancer Impresario at four. I'll let
you know what he slices off with his laser.
-Can't wait. You know...even at your age people develop
interests, hobbies?
-I should fly little airplanes down Lincoln Road?
-Anything! Spare me the medical bore. On and freakin on!
-Hey! What can I say? It's my whole life!
-Why don't you have a party for the Big-C Billionaire, the Dermo,
the Dentist, the...
-I get the idea. But I'm not treating them, they're treating me!
-Humor! Lame, but valiant try from one nearly dead.
-All from Miami Beach, and I'm not even Jewish.
-Too bad. Then there'd be a tradition behind your abject misery.
A tremendous folklore from Russia and Poland. Artists who
translate tragedy to fiddles. And, add the thumping comedic
record coming down from the Yiddish theater.
-Okay! Okay! So there's nothing behind me except a succession
of sour and icy Puritans.
-Broke THAT tradition at least! You'll die doing it.
-As long as I can find it. I...tied a string!
-By God you’re laughing! Laughing!
-That's why I call you!
-I should go on the medical and psychiatric payroll.
-No room.
-I’ll serve for a dollar a year.
-Fifty cents!
Labels: Cancer, complaints, death, doctors, medical, medical conditions, senior, sex
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Docs' Unemployment Blamed on Women
2050
When Alma Utz really gripped America
with her herbals and peer groups,
three-quarters of physicians sought
retraining in other fields.
AMA screamed Socialism! Encouraged
wrinkles such as Two For Ones.
In Gynecology, you brought another woman.
Dr Hobart Grimshaw, Times, laughed
"Just a passing phase. Keep your job,
Doctor! Our model is so freakishly
complex, the gals already drifting back!"
Labels: AMA, future, medical, women
Monday, November 04, 2013
Holding Few Cards
Small Factory
-The Old Man having crushed the Union in order to
enter Reactionary Heaven, we get Junior appointing a
Negotiating Committee of Management-Licking Toads.
-What have they negotiated away thus far?
-Half the vacation, half the medical, but only a third
of the wages.
-That last being the good news?
-There's more. Junior is leaving us to run
for Republican something or other.
-He fits perfectly into The Party of Endless
Fuck-around.
Labels: labor negotiation, management, medical, Republican, toady, vacation, wages
Sunday, January 16, 2011
The Office
-You’re undergoing changes appropriate to your age. I'll have to copy your insurance card. Stella's out sick.
-Not star-steady, she.
-How did you know she's a Hollywood buff?
-Figured.
-You’re undergoing changes appropriate to your age. I'll have to copy your insurance card. Stella's out sick.
-Not star-steady, she.
-How did you know she's a Hollywood buff?
-Figured.
Labels: medical
