Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Doctors and Nurses.
After a wait of one hour, sat in St Mary's hospital, I was ushered into the office by a doctor wearing a white coat over a beige shirt and darker beige trousers.
'I see you're doing the Vulcan hand greeting huh?' Said the smug, geeky doctor while pointing at my hand.
'I'm about to do the fuck-off-you-condescending-twat greeting', I thought. 'You'll have trouble playing those arpeggios now', continued, possibly the most insensitive doctor in the World.
Shifting on his stool he glanced at my hand a little closer, 'you'll be hurting for months to come yet, and you will loose about five percent of your grip strength in the hand', he beamed.
I was a little stunned by this guy's bedside manner. But somehow I found myself nodding stupidly and agreeing with the Doctor... WHY?? I was reduced to a blithering, deferential half-wit, only I didn't realise till I left the hospital. What is it about doctors that brings out a muted awe in me? Maybe it is the years of hearing my mum and dad, say 'He's a Doctor', or 'their daughter is Doctor', always uttered in a breathy whisper of reverence. Its almost as though somehow medical school commuted their otherwise unremarkable existences to a hallowed land of gods, to be forever worshiped.
Anyway, he told me that I could be discharged from the hospital, but I would need to see the nurse for a 'trouser splint'. I stumbled off my seat and headed for the the nurse's station.
The trouser splint is a cotton splint which I put my little finger and ring finger through to keep them supporting each other while the fracture heals. The nurse (unlike the doctor) answered all my questions, and even provided me with a spare. She was the archetype embodiment of the NHS ideal (no, not eight month waiting lists). She told me that if I had any problems I could simply re-admit myself to the hospital for a consultation. Now that's more like it thought, one 'person' talking to another. I felt more like a human being then, a problem. Here was an example of the type of health 'care' one expects from the NHS. It struck me as odd that the nurse, who probably earns a fraction of the doctor's salary and is certainly not accorded an equitable degree of 'awe'; can muster a greater degree of respect for her patients than the doctor. Perhaps there is an inverse law of politeness which runs along the hospital hierarchy? Anyway I wish she would have a word with ol' Vulcan hands, beige trouser doctor-he could use a lesson in humility.
After a wait of one hour, sat in St Mary's hospital, I was ushered into the office by a doctor wearing a white coat over a beige shirt and darker beige trousers.
'I see you're doing the Vulcan hand greeting huh?' Said the smug, geeky doctor while pointing at my hand.
'I'm about to do the fuck-off-you-condescending-twat greeting', I thought. 'You'll have trouble playing those arpeggios now', continued, possibly the most insensitive doctor in the World.
Shifting on his stool he glanced at my hand a little closer, 'you'll be hurting for months to come yet, and you will loose about five percent of your grip strength in the hand', he beamed.
I was a little stunned by this guy's bedside manner. But somehow I found myself nodding stupidly and agreeing with the Doctor... WHY?? I was reduced to a blithering, deferential half-wit, only I didn't realise till I left the hospital. What is it about doctors that brings out a muted awe in me? Maybe it is the years of hearing my mum and dad, say 'He's a Doctor', or 'their daughter is Doctor', always uttered in a breathy whisper of reverence. Its almost as though somehow medical school commuted their otherwise unremarkable existences to a hallowed land of gods, to be forever worshiped.
Anyway, he told me that I could be discharged from the hospital, but I would need to see the nurse for a 'trouser splint'. I stumbled off my seat and headed for the the nurse's station.
The trouser splint is a cotton splint which I put my little finger and ring finger through to keep them supporting each other while the fracture heals. The nurse (unlike the doctor) answered all my questions, and even provided me with a spare. She was the archetype embodiment of the NHS ideal (no, not eight month waiting lists). She told me that if I had any problems I could simply re-admit myself to the hospital for a consultation. Now that's more like it thought, one 'person' talking to another. I felt more like a human being then, a problem. Here was an example of the type of health 'care' one expects from the NHS. It struck me as odd that the nurse, who probably earns a fraction of the doctor's salary and is certainly not accorded an equitable degree of 'awe'; can muster a greater degree of respect for her patients than the doctor. Perhaps there is an inverse law of politeness which runs along the hospital hierarchy? Anyway I wish she would have a word with ol' Vulcan hands, beige trouser doctor-he could use a lesson in humility.
