Barb'ry Allan, R.N.

Something on the light side.

I've had a number of friends (and married one) in the various medical trades. The tune is the traditional one. V.G.H. refers to Vancouver General Hospital, the largest in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.

A specialist who'd ne'er been kissed,
At V.G.H., named Fallon
Did ask in love for the rubber glove
Of night nurse Barb'ry Allan.

She answered clear, "O Doctor dear,
I would not hurt your feelings,
But you're a hick, not for this chick;
Go elsewhere with your kneelings."

With fevered head, he took to bed,
To die for love now thinking.
The resident lacked precedent
To diagnose his shrinking.

The staff all came, but could not name
Whatever had subdued him:
In hope she might explain his plight
Nurse Barb'ry came and viewed him.

"Your blood is green, but that might mean
Sickness psychosomatic.
Yet your pulse is high, and your skin is dry,
So death seems automatic."

He lingered then, on oxygen,
Until the full moon's looming;
And then he went,as is flesh's bent,
The fetal pose assuming.

Pathology could but agree,
His sickness had been fatal:
With faces grim they buried him
In attitude prenatal.

Then, ill at ease from the disease
That had laid low poor Fallon,
Off to her couch, in a tragic slouch,
Went young Nurse Barb'ry Allan.

For days she lay and shrank away
Her blood-count never rising.
Then late one night -- she sat upright!
She'd been saved by streptomycin!

This lesson learn, unloved intern
In likewise situation:
Love does not kill. What made him ill
Was a lousy staph mutation!

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