A humorous poem of unknown origin titled "Ode to the Bed Pan"; typed on a single sheet of paper; 16 stanzas.
Number Of Parts
1
Provenance
Acquired by Cora Burnside, possibly by one of her patients.
Dates
1930
1945
circa 1935-1945
Date Remarks
Donor's remarks
Material
paper: white
ink: black
Inscriptions
Printed on page: "ODE TO THE BED PAN // While recovering from an illness, // I was very much annoyed, // For the toilet was denied me, // And a bedpan was employed. // I much preferred a thunder mug, // But the nurse just shook her head: // "You're much too weak, my boy, // To think of getting out of bed." // My experience with the bed pan, // To this day, just makes me quail-- // And I have been prevailed upon // To write this harrowing tale. // But my troubles were not over-- // As I was soon to find. // For how could manoeuvre // To wipe the place behind? // All the muscles in me bulged, // As I stood upon my head; // I made a few wild passes... Then fell weakly on the bed. // For modesty prevented me // From marking on the bed, // And that's my biggest reason // For standing on my head. // In the wee small hours of morning- // Before the break of day- // Came a warning I could neither // Ignore, nor yet delay... // The nurse brought me a bed pan- // Slipped it under my port side, // While chills ran up and down my spine, // As the cold thing touched my hide. // I tipped back upon my shoulder; // Soon my legs grew stiff and numb... // The odds were all in favor // That I'd die before I'd come. // In the up-side-down position // The beverage wasn't there, // But with a mighty effort- // I passed a little air. // But when at last I got results // I then gew faint with dread; // For I wondered if I'd hit the pan... // Or piled it on the bed... // While my heart was wildly fluttering, // I felt with cautious care... // And, with a sigh of satisfaction, // I discovered nothing there. // I had no more than finished // This herculean feat, // When I became aware of something // Sticky... on my feet. // Cold sweat was beaded on my brow // As, slowly, I raised my gown... // And there, upon my spotless sheet, // Was a hideous spot of brown... // For the law of gravitation // Had proved, as sure as Fate // You cannot stand upon your head // When you evacuate. // 'Tis here I voice a fervent prayer, // As only a soul in anguish can: // For someone to improve upon // This painfully antiquated pan. // Sick people very often // Grow worse, and I know why: // The bed pan is a rock on which / They're tortured till they die. // There's a fortune for a genuis // Who'll invent some kind of diaper, // Or a back-adjusting thunder mug- // With an automatic wiper."
Permanent Location
Storage Room 0010
0010-G Nursing Documents Binder pg. 10 b
Length
27.9 cm
Width
21.6 cm
Unit Of Measure
centimeters
Dimension Notes
Length 27.9 cm x Width 21.6 cm
Condition Remarks
Some minor wear.
Copy Type
Original
Reference Types
Person
Reference Comments
Susan Muer-Simpson
Research Facts
Cora Frances Burnside was a graduate of Kingston General Hospital School of Nursing Class of 1923; she worked in New York until 1971 and died in 1996.
Some credit this poem to Rachel M. Youra, circa 1970, but the title "Ode to the Bed Pan" appears in publications before this date, which may indicate that it is older.