A visit from St NHS

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ward,

Not a patient was sleeping, just one who snored,

The charts were hung on the bed end with care,

In the hope a consultant soon would be there,

We shivered cold under thin blankets in bed

While visions of warm toast danced in our head

One overworked nurse and a health care assistant

Ran ragged while machines beeped with relentless persistence,

I lay in bed wondering if sleep would arrive

The night stretched ahead, so hard staying alive

When out in the car park there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew in my gown

Gaping cotton, bare back, with loose ties hanging down

When what to my wondering eyes did appear

But a tinsel-clad ambulance with lights blue and clear

With a little old doctor so lively and quick

I thought for a moment he must be St Nick,

But with a voice full of cheer he did loudly proclaim

‘Santa’s old hat.    St NHS is my name!’

Then with garb crisp and bright as the new fallen snow

His troops from the sky he did call to come low

‘Now Doctors! Now nurses! Now healthcare assistants!

Come cleaners. Come caterers.  Give your commitment!

To the ward! To the ward! Give it your all!’

And with that,  they all flew right through the wall.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard by the stair

A clumping of boots; St NHS was there.

He was dressed all in white from his head to his foot

With a stethoscope hanging down from his hood

A bundle of pills he had flung on his back

A thousand new treatments peeping out of his sack

His eyes – how they twinkled! His dimples how merry

A hundred clear drip tubes tied round his belly

A glistening syringe he held tight in his hand

To pump us with painkillers if we’d so demand

He spoke not a word but went straight to the job

His troops filled the ward, armed with pillow and swab

They tended, they cleaned, the doctors knew all our names

The toast on the trolley was warm when it came

Three pillows appeared at each of our heads

A duvet was laid with care on the bed

In a flash waiting lists were a thing of the past

And the dirt in the washroom was cleaned up at last

Even the ward nutters stopped shouting their ills

And for once everyone in there got the right pills

We all had our own nurse, firm but kind as can be

The TVs were working, the car park was free.

And then with a nod, and a burst of hand gel

He was off with naught but a short farewell

His blue lights flashing and tinsel glistening

Patients asleep, just me still listening

And I heard him exclaim ‘ere he drove out of sight

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night”

 

 

With a little help from Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863)