Impatient Patient

My husband’s an impatient patient, Though I cannot blame him, For waiting to go home is something I knew would inflame him. But when you’re at the mercy of Professions, you’re tethered To all of their machines and tests, Which leave you spent and weathered. You sometimes gotta suck it up And let them probe and poke you, Despite the fact the bill you’ll get Is guaranteed to soak you. My husband’s an impatient patient, Which, of course, is trying, But lets me know, to my relief. Today he won’t be dying.