"I cannot go to work today,"
Said Nic, while in her bed she lay.
"I have a hole in my stomach wall,
It hurts just lying in a ball.
My tummy's empty, my mouth is dry,
I really fear that I may die.
I'm nauseous and I don't feel well,
I've counted sixteen heaving spells
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My finger's cut--my eyes are blue--
It can't just be the stomach flu.
Each time I gag, I gasp and choke,
I'm sure my heart's irreparably broke--
My head hurts when I move too fast,
Oh, how much longer must this last?
My back is wrenched, my throat, it burns,
To just feel healthy, how I yearn.
My body's cold, my stomach aches.
I don't know how much I can take.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My belly's sore, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
I'm dizzy and I cannot hear,
I fear the end is drawing near.
I have a hangnail, and I feel like--what?
What's that? What's that you said?
You think it's all just in my head?
I wish it was, now I'm going back to bed."
Adapted from Shel Silverstein's "Sick" in Where the Sidewalk Ends.