The Ballad of Peezer the Geezer

 

A craggy old geezer (whose nickname was Peezer) complained of his head feeling light.

He called on a doctor his symptoms to proctor and look for the cause of his plight.

Now the docs were all canny and searched nook and cranny to see what the trouble could be.

A scan of his brain showed he wasn’t insane, and a heart check left them little to see.

But the trouble got worse, so you’ll learn in this verse, he called on a doctor Chris Schmitt.

And within two days, to ease the malaise, for he wasn’t one who would just sit,

The good doctor Chris said, “I’m gonna do this: have you come in and see my PA.

He’ll look at your lab stuff, ‘cause he don’t take no guff, and call by the end of the day.”

Mr. Atkin was thorough (like Edward R. Murrow) and went to his work with much zeal.

He ordered some studies to be done by his buddies and see what they all might reveal.

It was late afternoon-ish on a day in late June-ish when Atkin called in with the news:

“You’d best take a seat, for the news is not neat, and you might want to put on your shoes.

Your red cells are failing. Your white cells are wailing, and your platelets are practic’ly gone.

Have your wife get the car and take you to ER, before you fall flat on the lawn.”

So, this fellow named Peezer (the crusty old geezer) went out and climbed into the Ford.

His wife, who was shaken, had certainly taken this Atkin chap just at his word.

She drove in a hurry, propelled some by worry, direct to the Salem ER.

She got him inside and quickly replied, “Yes valet, please do park the car.”

Now, if you have trouble, it will seem to be double, if it happens on Friday PM,

For good guys and thugs seem to gather like bugs on a paddy of bovine BM.

If you wait quite a while, it’s the usual style that you will eventually be seen.

Just wait for the bike crash, the guy with the road rash, and the one inexplicable teen.

When he finally was called, the Peez nearly bawled, so happy was he to get in.

To solve this strange myst’ry, the doc took a hist’ry, then said she’d be back soon agin.

She returned pretty quick, and she didn’t look sick, but she certainly wasn’t all smiles.

“We’ve looked at your stuff; I won’t feed you no guff. There’s bad news contained in those vials.

It requires more looking, but what you got cooking began in your bones broad and narrow.

Now this need not cream ya: we think it’s Leukemia a-brewing down deep in your marrow.

And so it began, the tale of this man, who complained of his head feeling light.

But the story ain’t over, no he isn’t in clover, but I think he’s prepared for the fight.