The doctor said: "The test results are in -

it's worse than we predicted, I'm afraid,"

Oh no! My head was turning in a spin,

my body felt like it had been betrayed.

"Your haemoglobin count is way too high,

white blood cells are a sickly shade of grey,

your lymphocytes are waving you goodbye,

your liver seems to be on holiday!

"No rhesus antigens were found at all,

your platelet count so low I couldn't see,

the thalassaemic factor's way too small -

your plasma's like a luke-warm cup of tea!

"The spherocytic count was quite a laugh,

aminos dominate your macrocytes,

thrombocytopes are only up to half,

you should have died a month ago, by rights!"

I gritted teeth and told myself: be strong -

don't let him see the agony of fear,

but then I broke and sobbed both loud and long,

he looked at me and said: "But you're still here!"

"Is there a cure?" I squeaked in mousey voice,

"some medication that would save my life?

Perhaps a transplant is a better choice -

you operate and save me with the knife?"

"Well no," he said, "those things won't do enough,

there's but one thing will save your life, I think -

but please be warned - it's long and hard and tough,"

I nodded, he went on: "Give up the drink!"

I

I bowed and strummed a power chord, the bottom E broke first,

there was no roadie waiting in the wings,

so, playing on, I tempted fickle fate to do its worst,

I hadn’t thought to bring some back-up strings!

Then, halfway through the bloody song, things got beyond a joke,

I had no spares, and couldn’t jury-rig,

but no-one seemed not to notice when the stinking G string broke,

I had to soldier on, my first big gig!

The A string parted with a twang, and I was getting vexed,

I couldn’t stop the show, and played with three,

I turned my amp to chorus, wondered what would happen next,

then got the answer when I broke the B.

With two strings I was struggling, this wasn’t any fun,

a rock star shouldn’t have to take this crap,

The top E string then broke in two and I was left with one,

I played a note and heard the D string snap.

I sang it á Capella, and I mimed the guitar chords,

but then the audience began to moan,

as one by one they left their seats and headed for the doors,

I stood there, stringless, silent, and alone.

I gave up playing guitar, did the right thing, I presume,

Doctor's Handwriting

Doctor's orders, concise and specific,
Written clearly, not one hieroglyphic,
Could be read with great ease.
All the nurses were pleased.
They all thought he was terrific ! !

But . . . .

When a doctor writes orders and notes
And you can't figure out what he wrote,
Just be very firm.
Confront the big worm
And shove each worthless page down his throat ! !