William J. “Billy” Barnes
PILES OF PILES
Way out in ‘Nam I got the touch –
That itchiness behind the crotch,
I didn’t like it very much…
So I went to see a Medic.
The Corp’ral, who was wreathed in smiles,
Said “Sir, you’ve got a bunch of piles.
Those haemorrhoids, they stretch for miles…
You need to have them off.”
He gave me ointment in a glass,
Supposit’ries for up my arse,
All in hope that they would pass…
The source of my discomfort.
A fortnight on, there was no change,
My ring-piece seemed to be aflame,
In desperation, off again…
This time to see a Doctor.
At 8 Field Amb. I had a mate.
I went to see at night, and late,
That he might fix my painful date…
And keep it off the record.
I’d met this quack some time before,
We’d had some beers, say, 3 or 4;
Complained to him my quoit was raw…
He said he’d fix it up.
He laid me on a theatre bed,
Then raised my knees up to my head.
He checked my bum and, laughing, said…
“Mate…this is gonna HURT!”
This Doc, he surely was no liar
The local needle felt like fire
From Hell’s own depths on molten wire…
Was thrust right up my chuff.
He noted quick my watery eyes,
My muffled scream, my shocked surprise;
So, in attempt to sympathize…
He handed me my belt.
“Just bite on this, the pain will slow.
Your rectum soon will freeze like snow,
Then with this knife I’ll have a go…
And lance those little bastards!”
My dot was numbed, he made a cut.
I bled just like a pig been stuck.
The piercing pain did not give up…
Till he had finished hacking.
He helped me up and said “My Son,
You have to be the toughest one,
‘Cos that procedure’s usually done…
With general anaesthetic.
To sanitize the wound at back
He reached into his medic’s pack,
A first field dressing to unwrap…
And jammed it up my crack.
“Just tie that round your waist a bit.
Be careful how you lie or sit.
You mustn’t eat and mustn’t shit…
For goin’ on a week!”
I waddled off and bid him thanks
And made my way past troops of tanks
And noisy “Husky Alpha” yanks…
Who laughed loud at my gait.
Next day we did deploy the guns.
I had to work with aching buns,
And hope I didn’t get the runs…
And blow away my sutures.
I lasted out the week alright,
And even though I bathed at night,
I couldn’t keep my wound from sight…
And earned the nickname “TAMPAX”.
But, in a while it healed OK
Despite the throbbing day-to-day;
With certainty I had to say…
It surely stopped the itching.
The cure, it lasted a few years.
But piles, the bleeding little dears,
Eventually they reappeared…
I let them well alone.
I couldn’t bear it in the end;
I went to see if they could mend
Me better than my Aussie friend…
They had a new procedure.
And if I thought the knife a curse,
This modern method’s even worse,
Administered by Doc or nurse…
Those tiny “lambing rings”.
Now, my advice for this complaint-
Just suffer like a martyred saint.
The itch of haemorrhoids it ain’t…
As painful as the cure!
©Copyright 2003 by William J. “Billy” Barnes