Monday, December 19, 2005

Poetry- the language of the soul

I love poetry, I love writing poetry, and unless its funny, I don't like reading other people's poetry. 'Nuff said. (The below is mostly mine-several lines were used from Glick and Phillips- set to the classic poem...)
Some people think a women's made of grit, mud and bone
My PPO thinks I'm made of money and blood
Money and blood, all of it showin'
To get sick now, you've got to take out a loan.

Refrain: You get sixteen tests, and what do you get
A prescription, a pill, an antibiotic
Saint Peter, don't you bother me cuz I can't go
I need prior approval from my PPO.

Well, I went to the doc cuz I felt kinda sick
He turned dead white and moved mighty quick
He read me like a book, and I couldn't tell a lie
I got the nagging feeling he was former FBI.

Four hours later, an IV in tow
I was lying in the hospital a coughin' up dough
I thought- this is service, I've not seen the like
Since I busted my head on a barbed wire spike.

Well, my family started right into crying
So convinced were they, that I was a- dying
I said, Dry up- I'm not dead yet
First I gotta buy insurance a nice, hot new jet.

Refrain: You get sixteen tests, and a loud run around
A shriek in the halls- a most disconcerting sound
Saint Peter, don't you you call me, cuz I'm otherwised engaged
I haven't seen a doctor yet cuz he's being paged.

I got me dx'd, with type 1 DM
I heard it from the intern- and I didn't like him!
He said- Cheer up, we'll take care of you
Cuz you still have a pulse, and you aren't turning blue.

Hospital sent out the lovely copay
And it really, really, went and made my parent's day
It was rough for them, even more then me
Cuz they got the bill- and I just got D!

I grew up, and the shots and blood pokes
Were all up to me, and not to my folks
I grew up, I wish I were still young
The older I get- the more I get strung.(for money)

Refrain:You get sixteen tests, and a needle to the gut
And you'd better just keep that old yapper shut
Its a high cost trip back to your Maker
First you pay the doctor, and then the undertaker.

Now they pour drops in your eyes, and tickle your feet
And ask a ton of idiot things I'll not repeat
I don't have the money to pay my rent
Cuz I done paid insurance my very last cent.

They save your life, to die a slow death
And your kith and your kin, on the grave hang a wreath
But Saint Peter, when you call me, and I do go
I'll have had my day, and had something to show.

Ok-depressing, I know. (if you were offended by it, I apologize) Made me feel better to write it, though...

The diabetes- and LL Lambo(Jr) (my loaner pump, a long story) both behaved today.160, 210,60,120, 140. Worked like a dog (at work), hence the low- I'm amazed I didn't get any more lows. My pump set is only two days old (I usually leave them in at least five), but the Tegaderm is peeling off already- and the shower tonight will make toast of it.
Tomarrow- A fun day at the hospital!!!!!!!(yeah,right..)

3 comments:

  1. Heidi,

    Good poem! Also sounds alot like the song Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ernie Ford (before my time but I still like the song).

    Take care of yourself and don't get discouraged, I've had Big D 37 years and I'm in good shape, so I know it can be done!

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  2. Thanks, Keith. Needed some of that- you longtimers are an inspiration.

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