Dr. Cranquis' Mumbled Gripes
(Disclaimer: Questions related to medical topics will be answered to the best of Dr. Cranquis' (and Google's) knowledge, but the internet-delivered wisdom on this blog CAN NOT AND SHOULD NOT SUBSTITUTE for your Real-Life Doctor's personal attention + examination, and your own common sense too! If you think you're having a medical emergency, hang up and go email 911. The author of this blog takes no responsibility for any medical, relationship, scholastic, financial, or other decisions you may make based on information found in this blog.)
Yes, this is a musical version of my Medically-Correct Nursery Rhyme: 5 Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.
Yes, this is another collaboration/production by the ever-creative never-predictable always-talented band The Really Good Pot Roast.
And yes, that is Mrs. Cranquis and I making monkey noises like a pair of gibbering idiots (literally having to keep from awaking Baby Cranquis as we howl with laughter around the computer microphone in the dark of the night — I had to refrain from going full-on howler-monkey, for that very reason.)
This whole thing is full of YES. So enjoy.
Volume 1 Issue 2 of The Medical Chronicles print magazine is now available.
This issue features the work of Dr. Cranquis, Dr. Baffled, LupineLady, and more!
Download your free digital copy here. You can also order the print version for only $4 - although right now HP is having a…
I’m in the new issue of The Medical Chronicles. You should probably take a look.
There’s a cradle-full of my Medically-Correct Nursery Rhymes in this issue (thanks for inviting me to participate, themedicalchronicles!). And the .pdf download is free! Lots of other medically-related writing/art too — check it out.
confessions-of-a-redhead submitted:
All of your poems and nursery rhymes inspired me to write a Dr. Suess poem of sorts. This is done from memory. (My mom used to read all of the Dr. Suess books to me, and I can still recite most of them.) It’s a rather lengthy fan poem, so bring a snack. I hope you enjoy! Anyway, here goes.
Cranquis’ Note: What follows is a tour de force of poetry, parody, and astounding recall of previous posts from this blog. I am flabbergasted, amazed, and dumbfounded. In humble appreciation of your skill, c-o-a-redhead, I officially dub thee with your Cranquisnym of Honor: Official Cranquis Poet Hugh Laureate. I just may have to get you to write my whole FAQ in rhyme too! :)
Now sit back and enjoy this epic thing (links added in post-production by Cranquis).
One ill, two ills, red pills, blue pills.
Black pills, blue pills, old pills, new pills.
Say, what alot of pills there are!
Yes, some are red and some are blue,
Some are old and some are new.
Do your knee joints swell?
Do they throb and burn like hell?
Are your muscles all in knots?
Are you ill, but friends can’t tell?
Can you barely move your shoulders
And though you’re sick, still on you soldier?
Do your
knee
joints
swell.
Any verses to add?
Hilarious!! I am also envious that I didn’t think of this nursery rhyme/kiddie song first, as a topic for my own Medically-Correct Nursery Rhymes. Well done. :)
(via themedicalchronicles)
(With apologies, and belated March 2 birthday wishes, to Dr. Seuss)
Oh the wonderful things Dr. Brown can do!
He can palpate your spine, and your abdomen too!
He can feel a strong pulse, and it fills him with cheer!
Dr. Brown checks a cervix — delivery is near!
He can listen for murmurs, and egophony too —
Dr. Brown can do it, can YOU?
Dr. Brown can examine your retinal veins,
He can inject a steroid to help your knee pains,
He can listen for wheezes and stridor and rales,
He can tell if your lungs are beginning to fail.
He can tell if your fever is caused by the flu —
Dr. Brown can do it, can YOU?
Oh the wonderful things Dr. Brown can do!
He can order an xray, and an ultrasound too.
He can sample your stool, if you have diarrhea,
He can sample your urine — oh, you have gonorrhea!
He can write an excuse for a sick day or two —
Dr. Brown can do it, can YOU?
(with apologies to Eileen Christelow)
Five little monkeys jumping on the bed,
One fell off and hurt his head,
The mama called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“No more monkeys jumping on the bed!”
Then…
Four little monkeys jumping on the bed,
One fell off and hurt his head,
The mama called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“Seriously? Another one within an hour? Let’s talk about basic home safety.”
Then…
Three little monkeys jumping on the bed,
One fell off and hurt his head,
The mama called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“This is getting ridiculous, it’s 1 am, why are your children still awake?”
Then…
Two little monkeys jumping on the bed,
One fell off and hurt his head,
The mama called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“OK NOW I AM SERIOUS, PUT THE MATTRESS ON THE FLOOR OR SOMETHING!”
But…
One little monkey jumping on the bed,
She fell off and hurt her head,
The mama called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“sigh… have you ever heard about Munchausen by Proxy?”
“Ring around the Rosie,
Pockets full of Posies,
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down!”
WELL…
(Could refer to Black Death,
I says, I says, let’s all calm down!)
SO INSTEAD…
“Ringworm on your toesies,
Pimples on your nosesies,
Rashes, Rashes, they’re all around!”
Jack be nimble,
Jack be quick,
Jack jump over the candlestick.
Jack have impulse-control disorder with pyromanic features,
Jack hyperactive and not consider consequences,
Jack get a combination of 2nd and 3rd degree burns when his baggy knickerbockers burst into flames, and spend 6 weeks in tertiary-level burn ward.
“Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon!
The little dog laughed to see such a sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon!”
Nurse, we’re going to need more haloperidol over here, STAT.
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet,
Eating high-fat-content dairy products.
Along came a spider and sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
However, her poor dietary choices had made her large and cumbersome,
So she was too slow to escape getting bit upon one meaty thigh by the spider,
Which turned out, unfortunately, to be a Brown Recluse.
This resulted in a rapidly-enlarging necrotic area at the bite wound, which required repeated surgical debridement and eventual skin grafting.
I, Katelyn, connoisseur of purple walking sticks
Have acquired a skill that many people do not need.
An ability so mastered that it comes natural to me.
Learning immediately after being under the knife for the first time.
Perfecting it after the four operations that followed.
I stealthily swim through the scholar’s safe haven hallways.
People part, like the red sea,
When they observe me crutching.
Dipping, dodging, and ducking,
Vehemently avoiding an assail from those who ignore my presence.
Clicking and clacking constantly from class to class.
Hopping haphazardly up and down harsh steps.
Resolute to conquer the stairs,
No matter how arduous they may be.
Hours and hours of trekking wear me down.
But I must be strong and press on,
Until that final bell rings and I can go to my humble abode.
Lazy and lethargic, I never want to leave my throne again.
But then the day comes when I no longer need my crutches.
That is, until the next operation happens.
Beautiful poetry about finding beauty in your illness/restriction, written by an old soul who knows of whence she writes. (And who is also one of my longest-following Cranquistadors, so you KNOW she’s fabuloso!)
Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty-Dumpty together again.
Probably because horses make lousy surgeons, due to their faulty fine-motor skills and lack of opposable thumbs.
Plus the King’s men had never heard of a sentient egg, so they must’ve assumed that the gelatinous smear of protein with fragments of crystalized calcium carbonate was just a practical yolk.
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down, due to dizziness from an inner-ear infection, and suffered a depressed skull fracture with intracranial bleed;
so Jill drank all the water herself, but it turned out to be contaminated with Giardia, resulting in a severe bout of diarrhea.
(These are the kinds of things I think about as I’m singing/patting/whispering Baby Cranquis to sleep.)
Lord…
- Preserve me from the first-time parents of an infant who “yawns too much.”
- Guard me from rolling my eyes as the still-smoking COPD-er recites all the “natural” remedies they’ve been taking to “fix their lung problem.”
- Shelter me from the wrath of ER physicians who feel imposed upon when I send a child with appendicitis symptoms to their ER.
- Restrain my tongue from cutting words when a mother accuses me of never calling her with the child’s (negative!) strep culture results, even though the chart notes show that my nurse and I left 4 voicemails over the space of a week on the only phone number listed for the patient.
- Give me patience when my colleague cherry-picks the “earache” and “sore throat” cases, leaving me to deal with 3 “females with stomach pain” in a row.
- Be with the man who just came in for “tummy ache and fever”, but turned out to have multiple abdominal masses on his CT scan, and who will be undergoing surgery tomorrow to determine the extent of his cancer.
- Bless the little girl with the painful rash after swimming in a pool with too much chlorine, and help the medications and treatments I gave the parents to give everyone a restful night.
- And thank you, Lord, for the bliss of sensing a full bladder, for lo, it gives me an excuse to slow down for 90 wonderful seconds, take a leak, wash my hands, look in the mirror, grin, and jump back into a hellacious work shift.
Amen
To the 11-week-pregnant woman who came to the Urgent Care with vaginal bleeding, stomach cramps, and “little clots of tissue coming out”…
I wish I could’ve given you better news,
but there is nothing I or any human can do now.
I could see the acceptance of that fact in your tear-filled eyes,
even as your mouth and heart recited the expected objections:
“But I didn’t do anything wrong! I’ve been eating right! I quit smoking as soon as I found out I was pregnant! Isn’t there anything you can give me to stop this?”
I stammered a lot as I explained things to you, didn’t I?
It wasn’t because I was unsure. I am sure. Sure that you are having a miscarriage, and that the fetus inside your abdomen (and whom you have already imagined wearing a cute baby outfit and blowing spit bubbles on a diaper-changing table) is going to be leaving your body much sooner than you or I or anyone else would wish.
No, it was because I kept imagining that it was my wife sitting on that exam table, instead of you.
And it’s hard to keep from stammering when you are fighting back tears.
God bless you, lady.
