A final diagnosis
Thought I'd let my doctor check me,
'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . .
All those aches and pains annoyed me
And I couldn't sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder
But he wouldn't let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross,
We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me
Though I didn't feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
My aging frame displayed.
Stripped, on an ice cold table,
While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,
For fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,
Probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living
They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,
Their results have filled a page.
What I have will someday kill me;
My affliction is old age.

Aunt Dora went to her doctor to see what could be done...
Aunt Dora went to her doctor to see what could be done about her constipation. "It's terrible," she said, "I haven't moved my bowels in a week." "I see. Have you done anything about it?" asked the doctor. "Naturally," she replied, "I sit in the bathroom for a half-hour in the morning and again at night." "No," the doctor said, "I mean do you take anything?""Naturally," she answered, "I take a book."