I find that I have some ramblings about health to get off my chest. Cough, cough. So I’ll start with some reminiscences.
When I was a boy, we had a local doctor who I will call Doctor B. (although he must be long dead). Inititally, our local surgery was at his house: the waiting room was tiny, rather like a ship’s saloon. In my memory, his consulting room was huge, with an enormous desk.
He had an endearing way of coping with patients. My mother went to him when she was having difficulties sleeping. He recommended a whisky at bed time.
My father went with some complaint I have forgotten. “Oh, you get that too, do you?” said Doctor B. “What do you do about it?”
Some years later, I came off my bike. Although it was a Saturday, my parents rang and I was taken up to the new surgery. Doctor B. put three stitches in my chin. I can remember seeing his hand shake as he did it……
They don’t make them like that any more. My point? Well, there wasn’t one originally. Except, as usual, I have realised some features as I write- which is one of the reasons I write a blog. Firstly, he was our family doctor. We always went to him. Secondly, he didn’t always hand out drugs. Thirdly, he was was vastly reassuring. Fourthly, he was usually available. I am NOT saying that doctors today are not like this, but that this was what made him memorable. That and the shaky hands….
More to come next Sunday.