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A SURGICAL
ERROR AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
by
Walter Stanford
Now
Mr Theophilus Reginald Brann
Was a worthy and highly respectable man.
His face was expansive, the colour of lard
There was nothing but bonhonnie in his regard.
In his
youth, in the middle he'd parted his hairs
And the parting had spread with the fleeting of years
And now shone resplendent, a dazzling sight
From his ear on the left to his ear on the right.
One sultry
June morning, the said T.R.B.
Strolled down to his office in Bucklesbury
And as he was walking, his features he fanned
With the elegant topper he held in his hand.
Fate willed
that his patients should carry him near
A sky-scraper building in course of repair
And as he was passing, some beer-sodden Mick
Let drop on his up-bulging cranium a brick.
'Neath
the shock of the impact the poor fellow's crust
Went off like a paper bag when it is 'bust'
And moaning, Theophilus sank down to rest
With his dome scattered round him North, South, East and West.
A doctor
was called, overhauled him, and said
"His heart is still wobbling, I don't think he's dead
I'll pull him through yet, if I don't make a mull
Look sharp there and pick up the bits of his skull!"
An eager
crowd ferreted carefully round
And seventeen pieces of cranium found
"Complete" said the doctor, "now one thing remains,
Has anyone seen anything of his brains?"
No, though
they'd inspected each inch of the place
Of brains not a searcher had spotted a trace
And a bricklayer said, "'ere I'll tell yer wot's wot
Some dawg must 'ave bin 'ere an' sloped with the lot."
The doctor
looked worried, "Thatıs awkward," he cried
"I canıt build his head up with nothing inside,
And if we keep waiting, he'll slide 'Down the Vale'
What's that stuff you've got standing there in a pail?"
'Twas plaster
of Paris. Two handfuls he spread
In the yawning gap left in the poor victim's head
Then pressed in the splinters, which fitted exact
And there lay Theophilus, headpiece intact.
In the
ward, where they carried him, senseless and numb
For weeks he lay motionless, pallid and dumb
Till, at length, dull torpidity lifted the siege
And Theophilus uttered distinctly, "Ou suis-je?"
A nurse
hurried up to the side of the bed
And cheerfully asked him, "Sir, what's that you said?"
But he only looked puzzled and roughly said, "Bah,
Mais qu'est-ce que vous dites, je ne vous comprends pas?"
'Twas the
Plaster of Paris; all efforts were vain
From that day he never spoke English again
Nor knew what his family were speaking about
No matter how loud they might bellow and shout.
The moral
of this is quite easy to see
It shows us how careful a doctor must be
Of course, there's no question - that medical gent
Should have mended his patient with Portland Cement.
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