He was the first to graduate, <br />top of his class at that. <br />Male nurse he was, <br />an oxymoron for the crowd, <br />but he had stuck with all, <br />had soon excelled and stunned <br />the staff and the examiners. <br /> <br />He woke each morning, before five, <br />slipped in the starched and white <br />then crowned it all by slinging one <br />his graduation gift, a bell type, too <br />across his rigid shoulders, pride <br />as well as practicality and need, <br />it was the seal of their approval, yes indeed. <br /> <br />On Christmas Eve, he'd volunteered, <br />they brought a toddler with a temp of 43, <br />he called the Registrar to get the go <br />and drew the morphine into glass, precisely so. <br /> <br />The child soon died, it had been calculated wrong, <br />the dose had been the proper one for one full grown, <br />perhaps the doc had figured this one way too strong <br />but here he was, the one in charge and on his own. <br /> <br />He took a 10, it was the largest he could find, <br />and filled it carefully, then shot it in his vein, <br />and within seconds he was screaming, going blind <br />and then he died because the morphine wrecked his brain.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/malpractice/
