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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "What year is it?" the doctor asked of the patient on the bed, "1972," she proclaimed and firmly nodded her head. He leaned over her, penlight in hand, and peered into her eyes, which danced and twinkled, full of glee as if she'd won a prize. He asked her softly if she knew exactly where she was, "The airport, of course, you silly boy," her head all full of fuzz. "I'm here to get my youngest boy, my precious blue eyed son. He's been away at war so long, a war we never won." The doctor met the nurse's eyes, much pity in his glance, "and can you tell me your full name and date of birth, by chance?" In a child-like voice she rattled off both name and date by rote, and proudly smiled a smile so sweet, then reached for his white coat. Her hands were frail and veined in blue, the skin was paper-thin, her fingers touched the starched white hem, her sight began to dim. "Now, one more thing," the doctor asked, (a first year resident) "can you tell me, do you know, who is the president?" "Nixon I think," she sounded unsure and furrowed her little brow, the doctor wrote some notes and said: "I'll let you rest for now." He left the room trailed by the nurse, I sat and held her hand, she looked at me, eyes full of fear, and said, "I don't understand." "Where am I? How did I get here? I'm scared and all alone!" She looked at me in panic, "Please let me go back home." I comforted her as best I could, "You're safe and I am here. And you'll be going home real soon." I tried to calm her fears. I sat all night in that darkened room, so sterile and so cold, and thought of man's mortality and feared my growing old. I hope I go quite suddenly, my eyes not growing dimmer, mind still clear I'd rather go with a bang and not a whimper.
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