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Lillies

I have overheard some students saying that they were disappointed that there wasn’t enough death in hospital. Maybe I’m too soft and squishy right now, but I’m in no hurry whatsover to see more than what comes.

Random Violence
I observed a craniotomy .

The man’s brain was, in a word, buggered. There was a haematoma covering probably a 1/3 of his left hemisphere, obliterating his 3rd ventricle. It had lost its nice colour, the normal texture and architecture, and to top it off, there was an uncontrollable cerebral bleed. He never regained conciousness and passed away. We never found out what exactly led to these horrific injuries – other than some sort of altercation. I know it happens all the time, but its sad that someone can be beaten this badly and be left there – he was only brought in as a chance finding.

On suicide and not knowing
I had interviewed him recently. I was chastised for not delving into his deep melancholy having been distracted by his more florid pathologies though my risk assessment and management plan had been satisfactory.
I had been the last one interview him, in fact. We had gotten on well, talking about music and ultimate fighting. He was picking up, becoming happier, more reactive, interested in getting better.
But somewhere along the day, and I’ll never know why, something changed and he tried to take his own life by leaping off a building. He didn’t suceed totally, but will be severely paralysed at the very best.

I wonder what was going through his head, I feel awful for his family, for the team that has been looking after him and inevitably we all think back to when we last saw him, was there a clue there? could we have forseen this? could we have done something about it?
But mostly I just feel sad.

on dying
He’s dying. He knows this but not quite know how soon yet and the question has come whether we treat him aggressively, for little gain, or we go palliative and he can return to his country(land) and family. He thinks that aggressive treatment will get him 5-6 years. It won’t, 12 months or so at best. If the renal failure doesn’t get him, the cancer will.
So we talk, about life, his family and about dying. He’s not afraid of dying and is remarkably cheerful and graceful, and for that I’m grateful – it makes a difficult topic easier to discuss.
We’ll meet again soon after he talks with his family and he invited me cheekily to his country some 6 hours away.
I hope I can get there, I hope that I did the right thing, I hope that he chooses well, and I hope that he has a good death.

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Turducken of doom

In 1793 was a pale sickly boy born,
Evil, Mean, said to be of the devil’s spawn
He shied from light, possessed strange powers
Loathed people, animals and flowers.
while other children stomped on ants
He chose sticks and baseball bats
Pounding dogs, rabbits and cats.

His parents fretted and prayed
As he grew meaner, each and every day
His appetite was inhuman, never satisfied
He’ll grow out of it, the doctors cried
So they waited and waited
And waited some more
But that happy day never arrived

As he turned six, things turned sour
Not content to bash and pound, he wanted more.
His eyes flashed with rage and power
And in a fit, his victims he devoured.
First it was small, hamsters, marmots and mice of course
Then mooses, dogs, cats and horses.

He enjoyed it so very much
But soon stopped to ponder; think and such
How dreadfully inefficient eating things one by one
When I could eat it all in one giant gulp
And have it all done
So in a stroke of inspiration
He created a new and unholy creation,
The magnificent turducken roast
Made from chicken in a duck in a turkey host.

But soon the day came when it just wasn’t enough
He need more. More meat and, and Stuff!
First he started small; pigeon, gerbil and dodo
Then came camels, goats and a hippo.
Into his ghastly mouth he crammed this meaty beast
But the attempt to devour this horrid feast
Had an effect quite unexpected
As his belly became swollen and horribly distended
similar to overcooked sausage, or wurst
His tortured belly swelled , jiggled and burst.

Stump Boy

 

First she screamed,
then she pooped, we-ed and farted
(It had been 9 hours since labour started)
She strained and pushed,
And pooped some more,
Then out he shot, past the doc
And onto the floor

 

They quickly scooped him up
Wiped off the slime,
And noticed, for the very first time
A nice round head, chubby little body,
Hideously loveable as babies can be
Adorable eyes and button nose
But no arms or legs could be seen.
Just some little bumps
Where they ought to have been.
They looked under the bed, the sheets and the bin
But the legs and arms they couldn’t find,
They even checked mom
to see if they’d been left behind

 

“Whats wrong?”

The doctor stammered, the doctor quivered
And shakily replied
I’m terribly sorry my dear lady,
But you’ve just given birth
To a thalidomide baby.
I may have been hasty
I could have been wrong,
I should have give you panadol all along
But the perks were great, the drug fantastic
Who would have known that it was teratogenic?

 

A decision was quietly reached
A prayer, a swift journey up to heaven
They wrapped poor stump boy up
Kissed him once
And tossed him into the dump.

 

thalidomide.jpg

Sorry its a bit late…

Hirsute Girl

Fair of skin, beautiful green eyes
With delicate features, quiet and wise
Lustrous hair, dark as night
Out of a fairy tale, our own snow white.
Ruby red lips, eager to smile
Pleasant demeanour, gentle and mild.

But this is a tale of woe and melancholy
And as such, cannot end happily

She woke up one morning to a horrific sight
For in the mirror, a beard had grown, and sideburns overnight!
She gagged and puked,
Retched and screamed
For now she could see
She was hairy as can be
from the crown of her head; to the soles of her feet.

Her mother fainted, her father swore,
Their daughter sweet and cute no more
The doctor thought, and thought and thunk
‘I’m sorry, I’m totally sunk
I hate to ask and insinuate
But is perhaps the dad some hairy primate?
Mabye an ape, a monkey or gibbon?
Macaque, chimp or simian?
This time father fainted and mother swore
I was weak, lonely and my actions I deplore
It was one day at the zoo, I meant only to admire
But I’m sorry my dear, an ape was your sire

Before father recovered, a plan was hatched,
And their hairy daughter quickly dispatched
With a hug and quick adieu
Her mum sent her packing
To join daddy at the zoo.

hirsute.jpg

ps. I am not mad

She had a pretty face, a head full of hair,
Soft gentle golden curls such that
Strangers would stop and stare.
Her parents proud as proud can be,
showing her off for all the world to see.

However one fateful day,
The girl developped trichotillomania,
And started to pull her hair out
much to her parents dismay.

In strands, squiggles and clumps,
In bunches, scrunches and lumps
Out it came, her beautiful hair
leaving twisted knots and patches bare.

Pretty no more,
strangers still stopped to stare
they whispered amongst themselves,
Her mortified parents in despair.

They decided to end the shame,
the innuendo, the blame!
So under cover of dark,
they shaved her bald, clothed her warm
and abandoned her, in the park.

trichotillomania.jpg

staringboy.jpg
There was once a boy born with a cute button nose

Ten chubby fingers and toes

But there was something horribly wrong,

Something not quite right

 

For you see, the boy couldn’t seem to blink,

Squint or wink.

Try as he might,

struggle and fight

He couldn’t close his eyes,

Not even one little bit.

 

 

He stared and stared

And stared some more

He stared at the sky

He stared at the floor

 

 

His parents were in a state

They couldn’t stand seeing him, staring all day

So one night as he slept,

with his eyes wide open

They crept into his room,

And stood for a moment,

Our poor staring boy they sighed,

And held each other tight.

 

Then stuck pins in his eyes,

And turned out the light

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