A Medic's Tale, page 20
Recently I have found myself reading articles from the BMJ, that renowned journal of the medical world. For some unknown, indeed unbelievable, reason, they appeared to have, at any time in the past, no desire to immortalise me by publishing any of my work. This could be partly because I have not ventured to embarrass them with such as I am aware of my limitations. The articles I was looking at have centred on the subject of death. There are of course volumes written on this topic and numerous books and journals dedicated to its varied impacts on our lives and those around us. I am reminded that as I advance in years, I am statistically closer to meeting my maker. It is my sincerest hope that it will not arrive too soon and one will be allowed time to enjoy a retirement away from medicine with a varied and interesting agenda. In the interim, I was drawn by some of the following quotations, veritable little vignettes of prose. If I may indulge myself these include:
“As birth and death actually occur, and our brief career is surrounded by vacancy, it is far better to live in the light of the tragic fact, rather than to forget or deny it, and build everything on a fundamental lie.”
George Santayana.
Spanish-born philosopher and critic.
“There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.”
Same source.
“Oh, build your ship of death, Oh build it!
For you will need it.
For the voyage of oblivion awaits you.”
D.H. Lawrence. English novelist and poet.
There are other references of a somewhat light-hearted nature.
“It’s not that I am afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
Woody Allen. American film director,
writer and actor.
“I read The Times and if my name is not in the obits, I proceed to enjoy the day.”
Noel Coward. English dramatist, writer and composer.
Many more could be alluded to with varying wit, sincerity and humour. We all doubtless have our own thoughts and considerations on the matter. As I say, this is an entirely personal point and should not be otherwise. It may appear trite but our demise is entirely an individual matter and cannot be ignored, sidelined or referred to someone else or delegated to committee to decide. But I would of necessity and to be true to myself convey my personal belief.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth in me hath everlasting life.”
John 6:47.
This is written with the knowledge that despite all my frailties, shortcomings, misdemeanours and many less-than-pious acts – in past times referred to as sins but not construed as such in the modern vernacular – there is hope for all.
I am all too aware that many reading this will disagree with my comments and that is fine and indeed part of our world where differences, discourse and civilised debate can occur without rancour and enmity. I implore you not to deem me as coming across as being better than anyone else or wiser, nothing could be further from the truth. But this, for many people, is something they hold on to and sustains them through many a difficult and testing time, both physically with illness and life’s traumatic events, that assault all of us from time to time.
Some will conjecture that I am deliberating being contentious and controversial. It is perfectly true that this piece could have been omitted but then I would be false to myself. It is well known for people who write books and literature, on occasion, solely reflecting their personal views and opinions on such delicate matters. We have the paradigm presented by philosophers like Dawkins and Nietzsche who deny the entity of God. Rather pertinent, considering the present topic to hand. On the other side of the argument, we have writers such as Meyer and Graham who incontrovertibly affirm and proclaim the presence of God. If I may be so bold to add a quotation attributed to G.K. Chesterton, English essayist, novelist and poet (1874–1936).
“Knowledge is the beginning of wisdom and wisdom is the beginning of hope. When men stop believing in God they don’t believe in nothing; they believe in anything.”
It does mean that in the final analysis it is entirely up to the individual to come to their own conclusions and act accordingly.
If I may interject here with one of many jokes related in church, hopefully to demonstrate that we are not all poker-faced. A chap volunteered to paint a steeple. He eagerly started to climb the ladder with a tin of paint and a bottle of water. Halfway up, he noticed he was running out of paint. He decided to add some of the water to the paint and continued to nearly the top. Again, noticing the paint was almost finished. Once more he decided to add some water as he conjectured no-one would ever notice. He was reassured in this notion as day was closing and it was becoming dark. Suddenly there was a roar of thunder and a loud voice shouted, “Repaint, repaint and do not thin again.” You may or may not appreciate the hint of a biblical reference.
Another concerns a duck that went into a bar and enquired of the barman if he sold ham sandwiches, to which the brusque response was, “No and go away.”
He came back the next day at the same time and asked the same question. “Mr Barman, do you sell ham sandwiches?”
Again, a terse response, “Go away and do not return. If you do, I will nail your webbed feet to the counter.”
The duck left somewhat despondently and a little upset. Undeterred, he decided to return the next day at exactly the same time. On this occasion he approached the barman somewhat tentatively and asked, “Do you have any nails?”
The barman shouted back, “No.”
To which the duck asked, “Do you sell ham sandwiches?”
Well, I tried; probably is better if someone else tells the story.
This reflection reminds me of the words recited by General McArthur of the American army when he was retiring and giving his farewell speech, I believe at West Point, the military training academy. His contemplation was that ‘Old soldiers do not die but simply fade away’. This, I am sure, is a similar experience in the medical world. One day you are in clinic, a GP surgery, operating in theatre and the next you are not exactly persona non-grata but have left the day-to-day processes behind and you are quickly forgotten as someone fills your shoes, metaphorically speaking. It is a new day and another takes up the gauntlet to soldier on and so you go quietly (possibly) into the sunset; sounds genuinely like an old cowboy movie. Well, I always did like John Wayne.
The contemplation of retirement comes with a mixture of emotions which are entirely understandable. From the possible feeling of euphoria that you have completed the course and are still standing, to the potential loss of worth and the value of the job that you have performed for so many years and as diligently as possible. For when you exit the doors for the final time you instantly divest yourself of a degree of importance (not self, I trust), but of being intricately involved in a service that intrinsically means something to you and others. Your personal input has vanished, you are no longer a vital part of the machinery of work and a new life beckons. It is beholden to those of us contemplating or already having taken such irreparable steps, to have ourselves prepared for the enormous change in circumstances both physically, psychologically and financially that can be suddenly thrust upon us. To dive into such an environment without due care and attention must surely cause consternation and bewilderment in equal measure. This does not mean that the thought of retiring, not permanently but divesting one career for another, should be shrouded in fear and mystery. But seen as a new, exciting challenge that should be grasped with both hands and accepted as a new era in one’s personal voyage through life.
This, as indicated, requires a certain degree of time and effort to quietly review the options open to you as the horizon changes. The opportunities are boundless. In my own personal case, as previously noted, I would desire to secure a place as a mature student at the recognised academic centre of excellence, the establishment known as the University of Oxford – dream on, you sorry soul. No disrespect intended; may I say to that equally famous institution the University of Cambridge. It would simply be a matter of geography. There to acquire knowledge, in some time frame of history, yet not specified and to be able to enjoy this in a more relaxed fashion compared with previous studies. I may have a deluded picture of relaxing Morse-like in a local tavern quaffing a glass of finest ale as I prepare my latest essay for my rather unsuspecting tutor. I may even venture to the Bodleian Library, there to sit in reverent silence and consider the luminaries that have preceded me. Under no illusion that I am in any way shape or form going to enhance the already established academic credentials of such a famous institution.
As I continue to scribe my various jottings, there is an incredibly sad episode approaching. One of our dogs, dear Oscar, who is an Estrela mountain dog, is nearing his time. We have had his company now for over eight years. This is somewhat brief with respect to many canines but often pedigree mutts, especially larger varieties, do tend to have a shorter lifespan. Unfortunately, when as a puppy, not long after we brought him home, it became apparent that all was not well. He kept falling over. And so, the requisite visit to the local vet. The almost obligatory blood tests and X-rays did not reveal anything in the first instance. Another presentation became necessary as the situation had not resolved. Our vet deemed a referral to a specialist veterinary practice in Birmingham. This was quickly arranged and on the appointed day we travelled to our destination. This was the beginning of an exceptionally long and arduous journey in all its derivations for one and all.
My wife and I, like the rest of the hopeful and worried owners, waited patiently at the front of the building. We were seated in a state of trepidation. After about half an hour the summons to see the expert was announced over the communications system and we managed to half carry Oscar into the numbered room. If I may explain on this count, poor Oscar was not marvellous on his legs at the best of times. But when encountering a shiny floor, which tend to exist at professional veterinary surgeries, it was harrowing as his paws simply would go in all directions and he would collapse in a somewhat undignified bundle on the floor. Various questions and the oft repeated examination were efficiently carried out. Next, he had to have radiological investigations and a further consultation afterwards to discuss the findings.
The results merely confirmed our worst suspicions as we were politely and briskly informed by the specialist vet, that not to put too fine a word on it, Oscar was an orthopaedic nightmare. As with any such situation, we were somewhat taken aback as it was worse than we had contemplated. The vet informed us of the options. Basically, they could operate but not quite yet as he was still growing. We were informed that in a couple of months poor Oscar would require extensive operations to correct a valgus deformity in his hind legs. If nothing were done it would, like all these conditions, irretrievably worsen and he would have to be put down. Not much in the way of choice. We left in a degree of numbness and shock. This venture comprising a simple consultation and X-ray cost over £800, so I leave it to your imagination as to the princely sum of the proposed procedures.
On returning home, we thought a meeting with our own vet, whom we trusted and felt would give us his sage viewpoint that would be helpful in our deliberation. But in all honesty, as Oscar was our family there really was no alternative. The subsequent discourse took place with our vet uttering the immortal words, “You have to remember he is only a dog.” I was placed strategically between him and my better half when he somewhat naively proposed this, to him, rational statement. To say my wife was effusive is an understatement. The retort, “He may only be a dog to you,” I think the word ‘mate’ may have been utilised, “but he is our family,” was audibly heard outside in the surgery waiting room. The poor chap felt rather admonished by her outburst. It would be embarrassing to have a vet mauled not by an animal but an owner. You can imagine the local tabloids having a field day. After a momentary awkward silence, normality was resumed. I have to say, I totally agreed with Dorothy but with less bravado or a more subdued initial emotional outburst maybe that is to my detriment. He was such a great dog. Not long after, Oscar went back for the first major operation on his back legs. We went to collect him only to find poor Oscar in a state of what appeared utter drunkenness, the effects of his anaesthetic, which we were informed was equivalent to that required of an adult. For the first six weeks he was not allowed outside to do his business without us assisting him by lifting him under his rear undercarriage with a hoist. This, you can only imagine, was an enormously tiring and stressful period for all concerned. The sheer elation of knowing this was to be repeated for the other leg was a constant source of consternation.
I appreciate for those of you who do not have and do not love dogs, this little episode will sound most likely defying logic and for some enter the realms of insanity. We have always had dogs and they are without doubt man’s best friend. They are very intuitive and know when you are not well. When all you crave is quiet company, they simply rest beside you until you have recovered and are back to normal. I have had dogs that would sit stone-like until I stirred, never asking anything in return. They sense when you are stressed and require peace and quiet or if you want to talk and they listen to your every utterance. They love unconditionally and are always there for you. A note here regarding German shepherds. We have had between us half a dozen or more over the years. They are loyal to a fault and are the best dogs you could wish to own. The bad press associated with them is not their fault but the idiots that own them. All of ours were friendly with everyone and had not one malicious bone in their body. I would go so far as to say any burglar would be in great peril of a severe licking if they trespassed, not so of dear Oscar – beware! There are many witty lines written about are four-footed friends. If I may present one to you for thought. “The reason a dog has so many friends is that it wags its tail and not its tongue!”
As you have gathered, we love our pets but even when they pass on, I do not think we would go to the extent that Alexander the Great decided, with respect, for his famous horse Bucephalus. It had accompanied him into many a victorious battle and whom after his death Alexander named a city, I believe, in modern Pakistan. Rather for Oscar we have in his memory inscribed his name on a seat in the garden. Like many a loved pet, gone but not forgotten.
As I scroll this little vignette of information, I consider the alternative careers one could have pursued. The idea of being a vet had entered my mind on occasion. But since I have what some would consider an irrational love for animals, especially dogs and horses, both in my senses and being, it would be unseemly for me professionally to consider inflicting injury on anyone who had deliberately hurt an animal. Although I confess the thought would have entered my processes. Such acts perpetrated by utter lowlifes are mindless and evil. The same consideration does not so rapidly enter my consciousness when it concerns the human species. Since one has seen the violence that they seem to perpetrate on one another without any thought to the harm and anguish it imparts. For those of you shocked by this revelation, I ask you, at least, to appreciate my candour. But in this world today, man is rapidly destroying vast numbers of the most marvellous of God’s creation with impunity and these catastrophic, horrendous and immoral acts need somehow to be stopped. If not, we will be the much poorer for it and the world become a lesser place, because of man’s selfishness, indulgence and savagery. On reflection, why am I not surprised? Please forgive but it is, as you can imagine, an important issue and one that requires urgent action before the situation become irretrievable. I realise that the answer is not easy and many consider hopeless. It would require, literally, a mind change in so many people of the world but we should never give up hope.
Other forms of employment which were pondered included being an airline pilot but my previous tension pneumothorax rather put paid to that exciting avenue of work. It would not be comforting to hundreds of passengers on board to have a breathless pilot attempt to reassure them all was under control. Being a professional athlete, of some form or other, transiently crossed my cerebral tissue but of course you need to be exceptionally good and suitably adept and proficient at the sport you are advocating as a full-time profession. Realism, in suitable measure, is desirable at times to avoid stupid or self-deluding decisions and grave disappointment at a future date. This vividly reminds me of when I was much younger and a member of the cubs, junior scouts. There was a regional team to be selected from the various cub packs after an extensive selection and training schedule. All was going splendidly, or so I thought, until the final day when the regional team was to be picked and then to sally forth to play against the opposing regional group. I was the captain of one of the teams and had just scored a goal. I came off the pitch feeling quite pleased with myself only for my older brother, who had kindly come with me, to inform me that I would not be considered. I was aghast and enquired the reasoning behind this irrational decision only to be told I was six months too old. The age groups were specific but no-one had informed me throughout this time having turned up religiously in fair weather and foul. It transpired that my cub leader knew all along but had not felt it necessary to tell me. I was very aggrieved and even now it rankles somewhat. The world may have missed a golden opportunity to nurture another George Best or Lionel Messi. I know treatments are available for deranged thoughts.
I have certainly never, to any degree, had a private practice. It is to my financial detriment, of that I am assured. As you might consider the world of emergency medicine does not readily lend itself to the pursuit of pecuniary recompense. I am sure that many of my colleagues in our specialty avail themselves of more than adequate income from extensive medico-legal work or private patients, as is often the case as a sub-specialty, for instance dermatology, hand surgery, orthopaedics, and others. This is not to decry their endeavours but simply I have not made the necessary adaptations or had the inclination to dive into that possibly lucrative side of work. Some will think this somewhat short-sighted but I have not sought its monetary rewards. My experience with some such patients has somewhat coloured my thoughts on the matter. I remember one somewhat less than charming woman. I would normally be inclined to be gracious and say ‘lady’, but she was a most officious and condescending person. I was seeing her as a favour to a colleague, who at the time, was on holiday and I had simply visited to see how she was progressing while reviewing her wound and ordering IV fluids. She was quite rude, very demanding in a rather brusque and curt manner. You were made to feel that you had to respond to all her demands far outreaching her medical care, but maybe this is part of the culture and expectations in such cases. I was extremely glad that if this was the type of person one had to deal with and behave as if some form of inferior being simply there to placate her, then I was not the person to comply.
“As birth and death actually occur, and our brief career is surrounded by vacancy, it is far better to live in the light of the tragic fact, rather than to forget or deny it, and build everything on a fundamental lie.”
George Santayana.
Spanish-born philosopher and critic.
“There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.”
Same source.
“Oh, build your ship of death, Oh build it!
For you will need it.
For the voyage of oblivion awaits you.”
D.H. Lawrence. English novelist and poet.
There are other references of a somewhat light-hearted nature.
“It’s not that I am afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
Woody Allen. American film director,
writer and actor.
“I read The Times and if my name is not in the obits, I proceed to enjoy the day.”
Noel Coward. English dramatist, writer and composer.
Many more could be alluded to with varying wit, sincerity and humour. We all doubtless have our own thoughts and considerations on the matter. As I say, this is an entirely personal point and should not be otherwise. It may appear trite but our demise is entirely an individual matter and cannot be ignored, sidelined or referred to someone else or delegated to committee to decide. But I would of necessity and to be true to myself convey my personal belief.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth in me hath everlasting life.”
John 6:47.
This is written with the knowledge that despite all my frailties, shortcomings, misdemeanours and many less-than-pious acts – in past times referred to as sins but not construed as such in the modern vernacular – there is hope for all.
I am all too aware that many reading this will disagree with my comments and that is fine and indeed part of our world where differences, discourse and civilised debate can occur without rancour and enmity. I implore you not to deem me as coming across as being better than anyone else or wiser, nothing could be further from the truth. But this, for many people, is something they hold on to and sustains them through many a difficult and testing time, both physically with illness and life’s traumatic events, that assault all of us from time to time.
Some will conjecture that I am deliberating being contentious and controversial. It is perfectly true that this piece could have been omitted but then I would be false to myself. It is well known for people who write books and literature, on occasion, solely reflecting their personal views and opinions on such delicate matters. We have the paradigm presented by philosophers like Dawkins and Nietzsche who deny the entity of God. Rather pertinent, considering the present topic to hand. On the other side of the argument, we have writers such as Meyer and Graham who incontrovertibly affirm and proclaim the presence of God. If I may be so bold to add a quotation attributed to G.K. Chesterton, English essayist, novelist and poet (1874–1936).
“Knowledge is the beginning of wisdom and wisdom is the beginning of hope. When men stop believing in God they don’t believe in nothing; they believe in anything.”
It does mean that in the final analysis it is entirely up to the individual to come to their own conclusions and act accordingly.
If I may interject here with one of many jokes related in church, hopefully to demonstrate that we are not all poker-faced. A chap volunteered to paint a steeple. He eagerly started to climb the ladder with a tin of paint and a bottle of water. Halfway up, he noticed he was running out of paint. He decided to add some of the water to the paint and continued to nearly the top. Again, noticing the paint was almost finished. Once more he decided to add some water as he conjectured no-one would ever notice. He was reassured in this notion as day was closing and it was becoming dark. Suddenly there was a roar of thunder and a loud voice shouted, “Repaint, repaint and do not thin again.” You may or may not appreciate the hint of a biblical reference.
Another concerns a duck that went into a bar and enquired of the barman if he sold ham sandwiches, to which the brusque response was, “No and go away.”
He came back the next day at the same time and asked the same question. “Mr Barman, do you sell ham sandwiches?”
Again, a terse response, “Go away and do not return. If you do, I will nail your webbed feet to the counter.”
The duck left somewhat despondently and a little upset. Undeterred, he decided to return the next day at exactly the same time. On this occasion he approached the barman somewhat tentatively and asked, “Do you have any nails?”
The barman shouted back, “No.”
To which the duck asked, “Do you sell ham sandwiches?”
Well, I tried; probably is better if someone else tells the story.
This reflection reminds me of the words recited by General McArthur of the American army when he was retiring and giving his farewell speech, I believe at West Point, the military training academy. His contemplation was that ‘Old soldiers do not die but simply fade away’. This, I am sure, is a similar experience in the medical world. One day you are in clinic, a GP surgery, operating in theatre and the next you are not exactly persona non-grata but have left the day-to-day processes behind and you are quickly forgotten as someone fills your shoes, metaphorically speaking. It is a new day and another takes up the gauntlet to soldier on and so you go quietly (possibly) into the sunset; sounds genuinely like an old cowboy movie. Well, I always did like John Wayne.
The contemplation of retirement comes with a mixture of emotions which are entirely understandable. From the possible feeling of euphoria that you have completed the course and are still standing, to the potential loss of worth and the value of the job that you have performed for so many years and as diligently as possible. For when you exit the doors for the final time you instantly divest yourself of a degree of importance (not self, I trust), but of being intricately involved in a service that intrinsically means something to you and others. Your personal input has vanished, you are no longer a vital part of the machinery of work and a new life beckons. It is beholden to those of us contemplating or already having taken such irreparable steps, to have ourselves prepared for the enormous change in circumstances both physically, psychologically and financially that can be suddenly thrust upon us. To dive into such an environment without due care and attention must surely cause consternation and bewilderment in equal measure. This does not mean that the thought of retiring, not permanently but divesting one career for another, should be shrouded in fear and mystery. But seen as a new, exciting challenge that should be grasped with both hands and accepted as a new era in one’s personal voyage through life.
This, as indicated, requires a certain degree of time and effort to quietly review the options open to you as the horizon changes. The opportunities are boundless. In my own personal case, as previously noted, I would desire to secure a place as a mature student at the recognised academic centre of excellence, the establishment known as the University of Oxford – dream on, you sorry soul. No disrespect intended; may I say to that equally famous institution the University of Cambridge. It would simply be a matter of geography. There to acquire knowledge, in some time frame of history, yet not specified and to be able to enjoy this in a more relaxed fashion compared with previous studies. I may have a deluded picture of relaxing Morse-like in a local tavern quaffing a glass of finest ale as I prepare my latest essay for my rather unsuspecting tutor. I may even venture to the Bodleian Library, there to sit in reverent silence and consider the luminaries that have preceded me. Under no illusion that I am in any way shape or form going to enhance the already established academic credentials of such a famous institution.
As I continue to scribe my various jottings, there is an incredibly sad episode approaching. One of our dogs, dear Oscar, who is an Estrela mountain dog, is nearing his time. We have had his company now for over eight years. This is somewhat brief with respect to many canines but often pedigree mutts, especially larger varieties, do tend to have a shorter lifespan. Unfortunately, when as a puppy, not long after we brought him home, it became apparent that all was not well. He kept falling over. And so, the requisite visit to the local vet. The almost obligatory blood tests and X-rays did not reveal anything in the first instance. Another presentation became necessary as the situation had not resolved. Our vet deemed a referral to a specialist veterinary practice in Birmingham. This was quickly arranged and on the appointed day we travelled to our destination. This was the beginning of an exceptionally long and arduous journey in all its derivations for one and all.
My wife and I, like the rest of the hopeful and worried owners, waited patiently at the front of the building. We were seated in a state of trepidation. After about half an hour the summons to see the expert was announced over the communications system and we managed to half carry Oscar into the numbered room. If I may explain on this count, poor Oscar was not marvellous on his legs at the best of times. But when encountering a shiny floor, which tend to exist at professional veterinary surgeries, it was harrowing as his paws simply would go in all directions and he would collapse in a somewhat undignified bundle on the floor. Various questions and the oft repeated examination were efficiently carried out. Next, he had to have radiological investigations and a further consultation afterwards to discuss the findings.
The results merely confirmed our worst suspicions as we were politely and briskly informed by the specialist vet, that not to put too fine a word on it, Oscar was an orthopaedic nightmare. As with any such situation, we were somewhat taken aback as it was worse than we had contemplated. The vet informed us of the options. Basically, they could operate but not quite yet as he was still growing. We were informed that in a couple of months poor Oscar would require extensive operations to correct a valgus deformity in his hind legs. If nothing were done it would, like all these conditions, irretrievably worsen and he would have to be put down. Not much in the way of choice. We left in a degree of numbness and shock. This venture comprising a simple consultation and X-ray cost over £800, so I leave it to your imagination as to the princely sum of the proposed procedures.
On returning home, we thought a meeting with our own vet, whom we trusted and felt would give us his sage viewpoint that would be helpful in our deliberation. But in all honesty, as Oscar was our family there really was no alternative. The subsequent discourse took place with our vet uttering the immortal words, “You have to remember he is only a dog.” I was placed strategically between him and my better half when he somewhat naively proposed this, to him, rational statement. To say my wife was effusive is an understatement. The retort, “He may only be a dog to you,” I think the word ‘mate’ may have been utilised, “but he is our family,” was audibly heard outside in the surgery waiting room. The poor chap felt rather admonished by her outburst. It would be embarrassing to have a vet mauled not by an animal but an owner. You can imagine the local tabloids having a field day. After a momentary awkward silence, normality was resumed. I have to say, I totally agreed with Dorothy but with less bravado or a more subdued initial emotional outburst maybe that is to my detriment. He was such a great dog. Not long after, Oscar went back for the first major operation on his back legs. We went to collect him only to find poor Oscar in a state of what appeared utter drunkenness, the effects of his anaesthetic, which we were informed was equivalent to that required of an adult. For the first six weeks he was not allowed outside to do his business without us assisting him by lifting him under his rear undercarriage with a hoist. This, you can only imagine, was an enormously tiring and stressful period for all concerned. The sheer elation of knowing this was to be repeated for the other leg was a constant source of consternation.
I appreciate for those of you who do not have and do not love dogs, this little episode will sound most likely defying logic and for some enter the realms of insanity. We have always had dogs and they are without doubt man’s best friend. They are very intuitive and know when you are not well. When all you crave is quiet company, they simply rest beside you until you have recovered and are back to normal. I have had dogs that would sit stone-like until I stirred, never asking anything in return. They sense when you are stressed and require peace and quiet or if you want to talk and they listen to your every utterance. They love unconditionally and are always there for you. A note here regarding German shepherds. We have had between us half a dozen or more over the years. They are loyal to a fault and are the best dogs you could wish to own. The bad press associated with them is not their fault but the idiots that own them. All of ours were friendly with everyone and had not one malicious bone in their body. I would go so far as to say any burglar would be in great peril of a severe licking if they trespassed, not so of dear Oscar – beware! There are many witty lines written about are four-footed friends. If I may present one to you for thought. “The reason a dog has so many friends is that it wags its tail and not its tongue!”
As you have gathered, we love our pets but even when they pass on, I do not think we would go to the extent that Alexander the Great decided, with respect, for his famous horse Bucephalus. It had accompanied him into many a victorious battle and whom after his death Alexander named a city, I believe, in modern Pakistan. Rather for Oscar we have in his memory inscribed his name on a seat in the garden. Like many a loved pet, gone but not forgotten.
As I scroll this little vignette of information, I consider the alternative careers one could have pursued. The idea of being a vet had entered my mind on occasion. But since I have what some would consider an irrational love for animals, especially dogs and horses, both in my senses and being, it would be unseemly for me professionally to consider inflicting injury on anyone who had deliberately hurt an animal. Although I confess the thought would have entered my processes. Such acts perpetrated by utter lowlifes are mindless and evil. The same consideration does not so rapidly enter my consciousness when it concerns the human species. Since one has seen the violence that they seem to perpetrate on one another without any thought to the harm and anguish it imparts. For those of you shocked by this revelation, I ask you, at least, to appreciate my candour. But in this world today, man is rapidly destroying vast numbers of the most marvellous of God’s creation with impunity and these catastrophic, horrendous and immoral acts need somehow to be stopped. If not, we will be the much poorer for it and the world become a lesser place, because of man’s selfishness, indulgence and savagery. On reflection, why am I not surprised? Please forgive but it is, as you can imagine, an important issue and one that requires urgent action before the situation become irretrievable. I realise that the answer is not easy and many consider hopeless. It would require, literally, a mind change in so many people of the world but we should never give up hope.
Other forms of employment which were pondered included being an airline pilot but my previous tension pneumothorax rather put paid to that exciting avenue of work. It would not be comforting to hundreds of passengers on board to have a breathless pilot attempt to reassure them all was under control. Being a professional athlete, of some form or other, transiently crossed my cerebral tissue but of course you need to be exceptionally good and suitably adept and proficient at the sport you are advocating as a full-time profession. Realism, in suitable measure, is desirable at times to avoid stupid or self-deluding decisions and grave disappointment at a future date. This vividly reminds me of when I was much younger and a member of the cubs, junior scouts. There was a regional team to be selected from the various cub packs after an extensive selection and training schedule. All was going splendidly, or so I thought, until the final day when the regional team was to be picked and then to sally forth to play against the opposing regional group. I was the captain of one of the teams and had just scored a goal. I came off the pitch feeling quite pleased with myself only for my older brother, who had kindly come with me, to inform me that I would not be considered. I was aghast and enquired the reasoning behind this irrational decision only to be told I was six months too old. The age groups were specific but no-one had informed me throughout this time having turned up religiously in fair weather and foul. It transpired that my cub leader knew all along but had not felt it necessary to tell me. I was very aggrieved and even now it rankles somewhat. The world may have missed a golden opportunity to nurture another George Best or Lionel Messi. I know treatments are available for deranged thoughts.
I have certainly never, to any degree, had a private practice. It is to my financial detriment, of that I am assured. As you might consider the world of emergency medicine does not readily lend itself to the pursuit of pecuniary recompense. I am sure that many of my colleagues in our specialty avail themselves of more than adequate income from extensive medico-legal work or private patients, as is often the case as a sub-specialty, for instance dermatology, hand surgery, orthopaedics, and others. This is not to decry their endeavours but simply I have not made the necessary adaptations or had the inclination to dive into that possibly lucrative side of work. Some will think this somewhat short-sighted but I have not sought its monetary rewards. My experience with some such patients has somewhat coloured my thoughts on the matter. I remember one somewhat less than charming woman. I would normally be inclined to be gracious and say ‘lady’, but she was a most officious and condescending person. I was seeing her as a favour to a colleague, who at the time, was on holiday and I had simply visited to see how she was progressing while reviewing her wound and ordering IV fluids. She was quite rude, very demanding in a rather brusque and curt manner. You were made to feel that you had to respond to all her demands far outreaching her medical care, but maybe this is part of the culture and expectations in such cases. I was extremely glad that if this was the type of person one had to deal with and behave as if some form of inferior being simply there to placate her, then I was not the person to comply.
