Surgery’s all very well for fixing what is broke,
but hospital’s a scary place for ordinary folk.
And so I wrote this silly poem to have a little fun
and show you what’s in store for you when operated on.
First focus on admission when all the forms are filled:
You’ll be questioned, measured, x-rayed, and blood-pressured, temped and pilled.
One size fits all, the bloomers boast – outsize and sickly green.
(Tried wearing mine upon my head, to cheer the surgeon’s team.)
These paper pants so need a gown that’s draughty at the rear.
But if like me you’re extra small you might have yards to spare.
Just gobble up your happy pill that takes away all fear
and as they wheel you away we’ll hear you give a cheer.
If you’re awake in visiting hour – you’ll realise it’s absurd –
each visitor’s full of good advice; no patient hears a word.
The nurses have it really tough with reams and reams of records;
the time for actual nursing is reduced to nanoseconds.
Now back at home I’m watching Egyptian cities going mad,
A whistleblower hunted and Mandela’s health so bad.
I only hope he has a nurse who’ll give his back some rubs,
and keep out any visitors – except the ones he loves.