My legs are painful old bores
With eczema, blood clots and sores.
If I thought I could bear
The pain without care
I’d cut them both off with sharp saws.
To hospital I go for my left knee
To be replaced like they did for my right knee.
I could write verses and verses
About the great nurses
As I lie here in agony.
It’s a hot thirty degrees outside
But feels like thirty below inside.
They strip me and shave me
And a sheet covers me
Blowing nice hot air on my front side.
The surgeon I now meet face-to-face
On my back in the anaesthesia place.
The anaesthetist picks
The places he sticks
With cannulas, needles and tape.
I roll into theatre slowly
And a woman comes over to me.
She puts a mask on my face
“This is oxygen.” she says
And I wake up in recovery.
It’s beautifully sunny outside
But I’m stuck in bed here inside.
I’d love to go out, please!
But I’ve got terrible knees.
Look after yours or you’ll be by my side.
My left leg is the villain this time;
Arthritis its partner in crime.
What’s this under the dressing?
Itchy blisters! No blessing!
Getting better? Not at this time!
The physiotherapist arrives on a mission
To treat patients in my position.
She inflicts pain with a smile
As I feel the rise of my bile.
I’m sure she trained with the Inquisition.
The other guys sharing this room
Like me came from the baby boom.
We curse our bad joints
But we all have good points
And we want to leave this joint real soon.
I’m waiting for Dr Farrar
To look where he cut a new scar.
He’s a top doc in his field,
So the nurses revealed.
I hope he’s not out at a bar.
Operations and work orthopaedic
Go on here while I’m writing comedic
Lines to amuse you
And emails to tell you
You may be ill but I’m a lot more sick!
There’s nothing much more to write here.
I must wait till the doc says I’m clear.
There’s a board facing me
Says if I want to go pee,
Nurse must walk me there on my new knee!
Oh PS: Hey, I’m back home now!
My new knee, which hurts like a cow!
They test my mettle
My implants of metal.
Given time I’ll walk much better somehow
My neighbour has offered to cook, hmm, maybe venison.
These wild lines are limericks so metre I jettison.
I make up crazy rhymes
It’s a sign of the times!
So, huh! What were you expecting? Tennyson?