The patient Patient

 

Bed tea, at the crack of dawn,

The patient is up, with a loud yawn.

Wondering what’s in store for him. 

IV, Blood test or X-Ray film.

Oh my God! The smiling nurse, 

Out comes the injection, from her deadly purse.

Oooh! There she digs for my poor vein,

The pain killer shot with a killer pain.

Out of bed, for brush and shave,

Forget the bath that you really crave.

Run buddy, or you would be late. 

The cold breakfast, already on the plate.

Now’s the turn of the trained NA. 

Swaggering in, with his TPR tray.

Checks pulse, temperature and BP too.

Take a break and chat with you.

Ward MO is on the daily round.

Attention! Not a sound.

  Asks few queries, and smiles at few. 

 There is nothing better to really do.

Somebody remembers, it’s Outpass day.

Can this patient go out today?

No! the specialist gives out a cry,

His sutures are yet to dry.

Listening to some music new.

Read good books and periodicals few,

Crib or play or hear a brag.

Or else this is going to drag.

10 o’clock tea, is a blessing.

Oh! It is actually refreshing.

On the hands of the clock, our eyes do lock,

It will be lunchtime at 1 o’clock.

    My tummy full, date with snooze.

    I dream of gals, food and booze.

    Tea at four, soft drinks at five,

        Is this what, is ‘Staying Alive’?

    Time now for the evening walk,

    Jokes and jibes and lots of talk.

    Srini’s done the vanishing trick.

The nurse worries, but he gets a kick.

Hungry or not, you have to eat.

The flowing dal and the sticky sweet

Not to forget the late-night dose,

Of Glox, Brufen or even Calmpose.

The patient patient, waits for the day,

From the MH, when he might get away.

    For him however, the word ‘Discharge’

    Is no more than a distant Mirage.

.........................................................................................................................................................................

Written on 18th December 1997 while being admitted in Military Hospital Kirkee, Pune for shoulder surgery. This heartfelt note echoed in every patient’s mind. To get discharged from the MH was one of the most difficult things. The rules in MH were stringent. Admitted along with lots of cadets of the NDA, the time spent in MH was memorable. Though the poem seems a sad story, I had one of the best times of my life telling stories to the enthusiastic cadets who were still under training in NDA.