THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR WHO TELLS

Evening Star, Issue 22631, 24 April 1937, Page 2

THE DIARY OF A DOCTOR WHO TELLS

G'HEH CHILDREN SHOULD EAT Monday, April 19. “ We never Jet tlie children eat between meals,” said Mrs Warlin to-day in discussing the general routine of the upbringing of her family. “Of course, at times it’s hard to refuse them, especially when they come home from school at 4 o’clock. But it’s a pleasure to see how ravenous they are for their evening meal between half-past 6 and 7.”

“ You know,” I said, “ I don’t know that it’s not a good thing to let them have afternoon tea, as you often do yourself.” “ Oh, ,but it’s quite different for adults, isn’t it?” she replied. “ Only that an adult doesn’t need as much to eat as a growing child,” I replied. You see,” I continued, “ children are a bundle of excessive energy, and energy burns up tissues. It is restored to a certain extent by carbohydrates. Therefore lam in favouh of children having a glass of milk and a piece of good cake, or, better still, fruit about 4 o’clock.” “ Well, I am,' surprised to hear a doctor advocating eating between meals,” said Mrs Warlin in rather an annoyed voice. “ I think we sometimes forget,” I answered/ “ that meal hours are not ordained by any divine guidance. Our national arrangement for three meals a day is purely a matter of conveninece, and quite a number of Continental people have a different one altogether.” It was obvious that Mrs Warlin was, unconvinced; It is quite time we began to realise that the clock is a convenience and not a tyrant. Appetite should be the guide to eating, not regulated machinery. A glass of milk at 11 and another at 4 (plus a morsel of food) would probably improve the health of many children and adults.

Tuesday, April 20. Jokes- against the medical profession flew fast and furious at a house tonight when I and two of my colleagues found ourselves fellow-guests at a party. One that proved popular concerned a melancholic patient who -visited his doctor and said: “ Doctor, I feel that I’d like to kill myself. What should I do about it?”

“Do nothing,” said the doctor firmly. “ Just leave it to me.” “ Why not take up the cudgels on our behalf?” said the most junior colleague to the senior. “ Why worry?” retorted the senior mildly. “We can always afford to wait for the last laugh. As one of our members put it the other day—--1 Man condemns his doctors, hut he always sends for one immediately he has a pain in his belly,’ ”• Wednesday, April 21.

” “ Oh, doctor,” came the sobbing voice of Mrs Yerral over the phone this evening., “Do come at once. Reg. has had a haemorrhage or some,thing. I think he must be dying.” A few minutes later she was taking me upstairs to the sickroom. “He has been off colour for some time,”- she said; “ no appetite, losing weight, and no energy. I’ve wanted him to come and see you, but, of course, he wouldn’t.” '

A quick examination was enough to hazard the almost certain guess that the patient had tuberculosis. _ I- told him that he was in no immediate danger, and that I would bring a specialist to him in the morning. “ Dear doctor, don’t be afraid to tell me the truth,” said his wife bravely, as we walked down the stairs again. • ■ “ A haemorrhage is generally the last stage, isn’t it?” “ Not at all,” I answered. “ Actually a haemorrhage from the lung in tuberculosis, or from the nose in high blood_ pressure, can be a godsend in bringing up a patient with a round turn and frightening him into getting him right down to the necessary treatment.”

“ I Can’t understand him _ having lung trouble, though,” said his wife. “He hasn’t had the least sign of a cough.”

I explained to her, as I explain to someone or other at least once a week, that 'cough is not the earliest symptoms of tuberculosis. Even some of my colleagues do not seem to grasp ’the point that loss of appetite, loss of weight, and loss of energy are three vital indications that something is seriously amiss, though, of course not necessarily, lung trouble. No one i should let this trinity of disaster continue ' without oemanding of his doctor a complete and 'thorough overhaul.

Thursday, April 22. “ Nothing wrong with me, Doc.,” said Conrad , Myles, proudly, as he stuck out his chest to be examined for insurance purposes. “ Just look how hairy I am. That’s a sign of strength, isn’t it? ”

“It is not,” I replied. “ Hair is no indication of strength. As a matter of fact, I have known extremely delicate men to be enormously hairy. The idea probaMy arose because in the animal kingdom the male often has long bristles.” “ Now I come to .think of it,” said Myles, “ I have known some wonderful athletes with hardly a hair on their body.”

Friday, April 2S. “ I’d just like a bit of ointment for this sore on my lip, Doc.,” said Frank Janel this evening. “ It’s been there about a month now, and I can’t get rid of the blessed thing.”

After taking a searching look at the little offending spot, I told Frank that I would like him to see a specialist at the earliest opportuinty. “It is an easily curably early growth,” I said. “You mean I’v© got cancer?” he said, in a horrified voice. “ There’s not the slightest need for worry if you get it fixed up right away,” I said. “ Practically all early cancer is curable these days.” Hardly had Jan el walked out of the

surgery when in came Lyle Godwell. He asked for ointment for quite a large sore on his tongue. It had been there for four months, and was growing extensively. He received a letter to the same specialist, hut his chance of recovery is uncertain. A tongue ulcer which lasts more than a few days or a lip sore with a hard raised edge should never be allowed to continue without expert inspection. Far too many lives are still needlessly being lost through cancer. , As he was leaving, Janel asked me did X-ray treatment hurt.l told him that it was absolutely painless in itself, and was as painless and unexciting as having your photograph taken. Reminds me of two old ladies talking about X and ultra-violet rays while waiting attention in the specialist’s ante-room. . “ I’m that scared, deane, about X-rays,” said one. “ I’ve never ’ad a dose of these before. Have you? ” “That I ’aven’t,” said the latter, “ though once me sister was ultra-vio-lated.” ' Names in this Diary are fictitious. Copyright,