Category: Health

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Results Inconclusive

A theory I’ve tested
Is, thoroughly rested,
With good food and sleep underscored,
Does the type called go-getter
Feel any better?
He might, but who wants to die bored?

by Ray Romine Wednesday, December 5, 1951

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Proxy

“Don’t do this; and do without …..”
Now although I sometimes deplore one,
A doctor’s nice to have about
To make one’s resolutions for one.

by Ray Romine Sunday, December 31, 1950

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Optic Topic

I envy that section
Of the masses
That sees without
The aid of glasses.

More than I envy
A Sultan his harem
I envy him
Who doesn’t wear’em.

Sadder than he
Whose days are numbered
Is he whose nose
Is thus encumbered.

But happy is
The Doctor who
Hangs the blessed
Things on you.

And that’s not all
He hangs, you bet:
He hangs you for
The glass you get.

Unloved, and I
Should think unkissed,
Who ends up an
Optometrist!

by Ray Romine Friday, February 23, 1945

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M.d . Saddles In The Old Corral

My doctor told me exercise
Was what I mostly needed;
And when I gandered at his fee,
I thought he should be heeded.
And now he says he’s proud of me
For doing as I should–
I take my horse out every day:
The walking does him good!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 7, 1951

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Lines I With Tongue Somewhat In Cheek, To The Family Dr.

I find when I am feeling spent
And hardly what you’d term a prize,
That some MD, with a gander at me,
Concludes that I need exercise.

But when I’m fine to excellent,
With every muscle crammed with zest,
He frowns at my vim, reverses him,
And tells me what I need is rest?

The net result? What could be surer?
I’m miserable, and ten bucks poorer.

by Ray Romine Saturday, May 5, 1951

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Life May be a Little Flat

I have to cut out smoking,
My doctor says. He’s giving
Me a list of do’s and don’ts
To take the joy from living.

He further says No Parties- –
And Wine is much too strong .
I thought it doggoned sweet of him
At that, to leave me song!

by Ray Romine Sunday, December 31, 1950

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Let’s Don’t Debate: Let’s Operate

The dear old system must bear the brunt
Of a Hollywood-type publicity stunt;
I’ve failed before, with showy capers,
But this, tonite should make the papers;
For I, today, am the operatee!
Bring on your old appendectomy;
What if it sounds like hectomy?
Yes, go ahead, remove my tonsil–
If I can’t pay, my uncles and aunts’ll.
Outside of certain notorious flops,
The doctors I have are really tops.
From their operations in ’35,
Hardly a man is now alive;
However, from those of ’37
They might dig up ten or ‘leven.
The nurse says, “Here, you muthn’t thheeth, thir,
You’re about to take thith nathty ether.”
A train approaches suddenly–
And makes a wreck of mental me.
Bring your scalpels, saws and knives–
We shall look into sundry dives:
We’ve got to peek at my pesky bladder;
Gall is bad, but stones are sadder.
We’ll peer, while in there, at my liver,
And weigh it and prod it and watch it quiver.
We’ll take the time out for a lull, sire,
As soon as we scan these stomach ulcers.
We’ll chart these innards, aft and fore,
We’ll make a graph upon the floor;
A concise and clear-cut diagram
Of a lively, bucking diaphragm;
If it gets boring, as such things go,
I’ll beat the doctors at tic-tac-toe.
Or they could tell me, as they saw,
Of the ifs and maybes of Einsteins’s law;
Of the weather, the ball-game, to boats in the harbor
(These chaps are human — just like the barber).
Then when they’ve things row on row,
They take the needle, and sew and sew.
Hours later, I ope a lid,
But I won’t invoice what I did;
For this is missing and that is out–
Lighter and paler? Beyond a doubt.
The nurses give me close attention–
(That they get mine I shouldn’t mention);
All of them are love and kisses:
A well-guy doesn’t know what he misses.
Wait and I’ll tell you, just once more,
About my operation–have I before?

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 6, 1944