Confessions of a GP - Benjamin Daniels [76]
I’m sure many patients forget me as rapidly as I forget them, but I’m still surprised by the impression I can sometimes make as a doctor. I once got stopped in the post office by an elderly lady who greeted me as if I was her long-lost son. ‘Dr Daniels! It is you, isn’t it? It’s me Rita, Rita Lloyd. You saw my husband Roger in A&E about four years ago.’ I had absolutely no memory of her at all. Even digging deep into my brain, I pulled out Tony Cottee and Frank McAvennie (1980s West Ham legends) but no Rita and Roger Lloyd. ‘You helped save my husband’s life!’ I was really racking my brain now. I should’ve recalled something. I endured many long and arduous shifts in A&E but it was rare that I ever helped save anyone’s life. ‘Roger had a tummy ache and everyone said it was just constipation but you examined him and said you thought there might be a more serious cause for the blockage. You sent him straight to the surgeons and they operated that night. He nearly died on the operating table but thankfully he pulled through.’ ‘Oh yes,’ I said. I now had the names of nine West Ham players and two hand bones (although one of those might actually have been a foot bone) but still had no memory of Roger and his tummy pain. ‘How is Roger doing now?’ I asked. ‘He died nine months later from the bowel cancer that was causing the blockage, but we are all so grateful for that extra time you helped to give us.’ She gave me a big hug, shed a tear and left me to carry on in the post office. It’s not often that I get a warm fuzzy feeling like that but it really was a vintage year for West Ham…and it’s nice to think that I occasionally make a difference as a doctor.
Fighting
Tommy has a proper West country ‘ooarr’ accent that never fails to entertain me. He’s not particularly blessed in the brains department and has a very high TTT score. TTT stands for tattoo to teeth. The rule is that if a patient comes in with more tattoos than teeth, they are probably going to have a fighting-related problem. This may seem like another unfair prejudice made by snobby middle-class doctors, but it is in fact a frighteningly accurate clinical sign.
‘’Allo, Doctor. I’ve come about my nose. It’s sniffing, see. I can’t sniffs on this side. And I can’t sniffs on the other side, neither.’ Tommy demonstrates with a long and unsuccessful attempt to breathe in through both nostrils in turn.
‘See, Doctor – I can’t sniffs nothing. I snores like a bear and I can’t even smells my own farts.’
You didn’t have to have a medical degree to spot the problem with Tommy’s nose. It was clearly big to start with, but had unmistakably been broken on several occasions and now pointed in several directions at the same time. Judging from his multiple tattoos and missing teeth, I imagine that Tommy’s nose has probably been punched out of shape, but it seems unfair to jump to conclusions.
‘So, Tommy, it looks like you’ve broken your nose. Was that a sporting injury, perhaps?’
Tommy gives me a big toothless smile.
‘No, Doctor. I broked it fighting. I broked it this way fighting in the pub and then my wife broked it the other way when we was rowing at home. Just the other day I think I might ’ave broked it again when I fell over pissed.’
I send Tommy off to the facial surgeons but warn him that they have quite a job on their hands.
I myself am pleased to say that I have never been hit. Although my nose is big, I am relieved that I have at least managed to keep it straight and I’m rather keen it remains that way. A recent report suggested that up to one-third of NHS staff have been physically assaulted at work. One of the reasons I have avoided violence during my years as a doctor is my natural tendency to exhibit cowardice at every possible opportunity. This was most clearly demonstrated when a fight broke out between two drunk patients one Friday night in the A&E department. When looking back at the CCTV footage with the police, several small nurses could be spotted