Allegedly, a nurse named Phyllis McCormack was merely empathetic to the plight of the aging adults she cared for.
McCormack, so the story goes, penned the first draft of this poem while working in a British hospital, sometime in the mid-1960s.
According to a 1998 article in the “Daily Mail” (a British newspaper), McCormack’s son claimed that his mother had written the original verse for her hospital’s magazine.
The “Cranky Old Man” version of the poem is said to have been later adapted from McCormack’s version by David Griffith, a U. S. poet.
What do you see nurses? What do you see?What are you thinking? When you are looking at meA crabbit old woman not very wise,Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,Who dribbles her food, and makes no reply,When you say in a loud voice,'I do wish you'd try'.Who seems not to notice, the things that you do,And forever is losing, a stocking or shoe,Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you willWith bathing and feeding, the long day to fill,Is this what you're thinking? Is this what you see?Then open your eyes nurse, you're not looking at me.I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still,As I use at your bidding, as I eat at your will.I'm a small child of ten, with a father and mother,Brothers and sisters who, love one another,A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,Dreaming that soon now, a lover she'll meet:A bride soon at twenty, my heart gives a leap,Remembering the vows, that I promised to keep:At twenty-five now, I have young of my own 5Who need me to build, a secure happy home.A young woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,Bound to each other, with ties that should last:At forty my young ones, now grown will soon be gone,But my man stays beside me, to see I don't mourn:At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,Again we know children, my loved one and me.Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,I look at the future, I shudder with dread,For my young are all busy, rearing young of their own,And I think of the years, and the love I have known.I'm an old woman now, and nature is cruel'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,There now is a stone, where I once had a heart:But inside this old carcass, a young girl still dwells,And now and again, my battered heart swells,I remember the joys, I remember the pain,And I'm loving and living, life over again,I think of the years, all too few - gone too fast,And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.So open your eyes nurses, open and see,Not a crabbit old woman, look closer - see ME.
