I held my whimpering child close
And stroked her curly hair.
I cursed the fate
That made her wait
Without a doctor's care.
Though I had phoned our trusted
doc
The call had made me frown
For I had heard
The transcribed word
"The doctor's out of
town."
We called upon an unknown doc
Who gave her pills to take
And crutches too
(He thought he knew
Rheumatic fever's wake.)
Crutches he gave to bear her
weight
Antibiotics too,
Killers of pain
To ease the strain
When aches came throbbing
through.
I laid her down upon my bed
And stroked her fevered brow
But worse she grew
What could we do?
Get help and quick but how?
We took her to the hospital,
A doctor came to see.
Our hands we wrung,
He looked too young
For this emergency.
How could we trust our child to
him?
Our hearts began to freeze,
With crew-cut hair
And College air
He showed no expertise.
In desperation we agreed
To let him operate.
How wrong we were
His skill healed her
Before it was too late.
The crew-cut is no college kid
He has a doctor's skill
To save a life
With a surgery knife
But have compassion still.
May, 1963
Written at the time of my daughter Carol's appendectomy. With
Dr. Leininger was out of town, I took her to a Princeton doctor who
refused to ask a hospital to admit her.
Against his will we called the Ripon Hospital if they would admit her,
which they did.
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