Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The Raving

Copyright (C) 2006 Robert S. Rosson. All rights reserved.

(With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe) 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I suffered weak and weary
Over a doublet of knee construction,
As I moaned, insomniac and bloating
Distended, groaning, intestines floating,
“’Tis some ileus, I conjured, or gut obstruction--
                        Merely gas and nothing more!”
Ah, distinctly I recall, my knees were the sorest of them all.
As each dying cartilage wrought its pain upon its host,
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From Cox II surcease of sorrow.  Sorrow for the last served ball
And for the joy of forehand strokes now lost--
                        To play tennis nevermore!
Now here’s the surgeon of the bone, with his saw and knife to hone:
“’Tis no wonder that you moan and groan;
X-rays and MR’s do not lie,
It’s clear to me you’re bone on bone.
With metal and plastic I’ll smooth the bone--
                        To the OR—Say no more!”
Back from the OR I arrive; knees restored, I’m still alive.
Pain controlled, but what I fear
Is immobility and helplessness.  “ Oh dear!
What have I done? What was I thinking?”
“Wait you’ll see; you’ll rejoice your thinking.”--
                        Quoth the surgeon, “Evermore!”
Presently my legs grow stronger, painful and weak no longer.
I enroll in rehab – a form of torture;
Flex and extend, stretch and bend!
The surgeon is ecstatic, his work a perfect score.
“Aren’t you pleased? Would you repeat it once more?”--
                        Quoth the patient, “Nevermore!”

(Ed. Note.  The author is currently recovering from bilateral total knee
arthroplasties.  He is pleased with the result and no longer hates his
orthopaedist.)

Published originally in YJHM February 4, 2006

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