I have been cross as you can get,
Through loss of any internet;
But here the post comes into play
That I prepared for yesterday:
Why is it that the medical profession
Can never keep to times that they have set?
You bust a gut to get there for a session —
‘Oh, no, the doctor cannot see you yet.’
Today it was my Neuro that I raced to,
To see if I could be described as sane,
Or whether mem’ry loss could now be traced to
Some terrible defect within the brain.
At last, by this time thoroughly dejected,
To presence of the great man summoned was;
To written and some mental tests subjected,
The reason, no doubt, being, ‘Just because.’
The day and date for starters was demanded,
Well, thanks to blog, that wasn’t very hard,
To give more basic stuff was then commanded,
Which not to know would make one a retard.
Addition and subtraction, and retention
Of words to then regurgitate on cue,
Among them. ‘cat,’ ‘dog’ ‘house’ I can still mention —
I can’t forget that little lot; would you?
Identifying pictures: Elvis was among them;
Prince William there, and David Beckham too,
And Bill Clinton: right confidently sung them,
Though ‘Bend it with’ I didn’t think I knew.
And at the end of these and other teasers,
It was pronounced (with me in ecstasy)
That what I had just taken as some breezers,
The most advanced test, actually, would be.
So, there is nothing wrong with mental functions,
Except what age and meds, there, might decree;
And no suggestions of repairing junctions,
To get my thinking back in harmony.
And then, new junction box I have completed;
I finished in the darkness of the night;
Now fountain on the deck can be re-seated;
The sound of water does provide delight.