Tonsillectomy Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Sits assistant in the chair,
on his lap with thick blond hair
slumps a boy, mouth open wide,
one strong hand on either side.

Tiny squirts of toxic badness
into fabric mask of madness,
ethyl chloride puts you under,
ether brings the out cold yonder.

Scalpel made of stainless steel
slightly curved to let him peel
tonsil tissue from the crypts,
just a touch of solid stypts.

Gets the little bleeders quiet
they can make for quite a riot,
peel and cut with gentle hands,
that is what his task demands.

Adenoidal, rotten tissue
now becomes the final issue,
ring-nosed pliers, one quick squeeze,
patient fights with two strong knees.

Bit more ether, there you go,
almost time to end this show.
Cauterise and Cauterise!
So - you don't get a surprise

in the middle of the night
when the staff nurse gets a fright.
Figures are, I'm realistic
from the global net statistic

during days of this technique
it was scary to be sick!
Two thousand patients opened wide
and of those children, one has died.