The Diary of a Doctor Who Tells

Evening Star, Issue 23723, 2 November 1940, Page 3

The Diary of a Doctor Who Tells

Monday, October 28. No matter liow long wo live or how exciting our careers, no moment of our life is ever so dramatic as the moment of our entering it. 1 could not help thinking that as I. sat patiently in Hurt Treen’s kitchen at 2 o’clock this morning, waiting for Nature to take its appointed but slow course. 'l'he drama was ready to start, the audience (consisting of -Airs Troon's mother, her husband’s mother, her sister, an aunt I couldn’t trace, the next-door neighbour, and one or two others) was assembled, but for four long hours there had been no appearance of him referred to sometimes by obstetricians as the Juvenile Lead. There is a time for action and a time for inaction, and the case of Mrs Trecn (much to the dismay of both mothers, tho sister, the aunt I couldn’t trace, tho next-door neighbour, and one or two others) cried for inaction on tho ■ part of the medical attendant. “ But surely there’s something that can be done,” protested one of the impending grandmothers. “ It’s terrible to seo her suffering.” “ There is nothing that can be done safely at the moment,” I said patiently for the fifth time. “ Should this difficult stage continue I will give her morphia, and we’ll all sleep for a while.” “ 1 don’t agree with a messing about with drugs,” said the other grandmother ominously. “Perhaps; we’d better have a specialist.” “By all means,” 1 said. “ Who shall wo get?” “ We’re not getting any specialists —not yet, at any rate,” said the young husband, suddenly assorting himself. “ Why don’t you all go home?” “ My place is by my daughter’s side,” said the patient’s mother, giving him what’s known as a dark look. “ 1 have some feeling about all this, even j if rather people haven’t.” She sniffed herself out of tho kitchen, and wo heard her going back to the bedroom. Her presence (as it occasionally does) stimulated the mother-to-be to fresh nervousness, and I felt that my assistance was indicated. The family gathered behind me, and I began to feel that we’d all had enough. “ There’s a certain amount of difficulty,” I said, suddenly turning and confronting them. “It is not serious, though it is tedious. I’m going to let the patient have a good sleep, and 1 want everyone to go homo and have the same. Nurse will watch over everything and let me know if there’s the slightest need of my services.” I then closed the bedroom door firmly, gave the young mother a little i morphia, and went home to snatch a few hours’ sleep. , At 7 this morning nurse called me on the phone, and in half an hour’s time Master Trcen-arrived safely, the| only witness being the nurse and my- 1 self. • * • • When a doctor is called he’s expected to do something, whether tho case is a confinement or a fainting fit. Not infrequently masterly inactivity is preferable to hasty action, a fact which the audience finds most difficult of appreciation. If a doctor feels that something can be done he’ll do it. If he doesn’t, it’s against the patient’s interests to force him to do those things which ought not to be done. Tuesday, October 29. “Tired, Daddy?” cooed Wendy, climbing on the arm of my chair after our evening meal. “ Just a hit, ray pet,” I said. “ I had a late night last night.” “ I heard you going out early this morning,” she said. “It woke me up.” “ Sorry,” I said, “ but the car wouldn’t start for a moment, and I had to make a hit of a noise.” “ It’s all right,” she said, running her fingers through my hair. “ 1 had more sleep than you did, anyway.” “ Feeling better now?” said Wendy, in a voice so honeyed that even my tired brain began to function. “ Much better now,” I said, and added, looking at her but of the corner of my eyes, “ Anything I can do for you?” “ No,” said Wendy, hastily. “At least not just yet. I was just going to have a word with you about my party.” “What party?” I demanded suspiciously. “ Haven’t I mentioned it?” said Wendy innocently. “ I thought I’d better have a party on my birthday on the 23rd of November. I’ve been asked about such a lot lately, and I simply must ask a few people hack.

“ You see.” she concluded with some dignity, “ I’ll be nine, and you have to’think of those things when you’re nine, haven’t you?” “ Naturally,” I said. “ Peter,” said my wife sternly. “ That child can got anything out of

Masterly Inactivity

you. Sho’s hotter at it than I am.” “ That’s saying something,” I com ceded generously.

Tho sexes act differently from an early ago onward, kittle boys arc independent, and like nothing better than to be thought “ tough guys.” Little girls fall naturally into the coaxing habits of the female, and develop a shrewd understanding of human nature . . . especially male human nature . . . early in life. They know when they have simply to look winsome and when they have to augment it with flattery and tenderness. Wo males know this, but we fall for it all tho same. Wednesday, October 30. “ He’s always gelling styes on his eyes,” said Mrs Jones about her 10-year-old sou this afternoon. “ I try rubbing them with a gold wedding ring, and though my mother says it cured her children, it doesn’t seem to cure Harold.” Harold looked rather a miserable weed, undersized, pasty-coloured, and pimply. His lids wore red with blephoritis. “ I’m afraid that the matter goes deeper than wedding rings,” I said. “A stye is a sort of boil, or abscess. Generally they’re seen in kiddies who are run down. Sometimes, too, especially when they’re associated with red lids, there may be some eye-strain, and I want you to take Harold along to an eye doctor.” “Meanwhile,” I continued, “we have to build up his resistance with plenty of good food, plenty of milk, and not too much starchy food or sweets. Give him as much fruit and greens as he’ll take, and you mighttry him out on some cod liver oil as well.” Thursday, October 31, • “ But,” said Mrs Mullens, obstinately, “ I’m saying it was a rusty nail.” “ Yes,” said I for the third time, “hut as long as you give the wound a bathe and put some antiseptic in it no harm will he done.” “ Surely she wants an injection or something,” she persisted. “ Isn’t there a danger of lockjaw?” “So long as the nail hasn’t been in contact with manure, there’s no need to fear tetanus,” 1 replied. We bathed tho hand of her daughter Helen, and in due course all was well. Fear of rusty nails and other pieces of iron probably dates back to the eleventh century, when iron rust was thought to be deadly poison. Iron itself has been _ a valuable medicine since the earliest days of Egypt. The Romans and the Greeks used it, and down the Middle Ages it was used for about everything except the one thing we know it’s very good for, a certain form of anjemia. About 100 years ago a doctor named Bland discovered that a pill could be made of a certain preparation of iron and something else, and that the said pill would work wonders in chlorosis, the anaemia frequently seen in young girls. I don’t think we’ve bettered the pill yet.

Friday, November 1. In the Middle Ages it was not uncommon for someone to be credited with possessing the “ evil eye.” _ The Australian blackfellows are said to have the gift of “ pointing the bone ” at someone and causing illness, if not actual death. Even in the modern sporting world, such-and-such a performer is said to “have the hoodoo” on another performer. These thoughts came to my mind this afternoon as I heard young Margaret Carney unfold the story of her browbeating mother-in-law. Margaret had come complaining of vague pains in the back of the head, indigestion, and nervousness, and 1 had promptly accused her of being very worried over some thing or person. After denials, she bad mentioned the mother-in-law. Apparently nothing that Margaret has done or worn has over been right—according to mother-in-law. Her frocks are poorly cut, her hair is done the wrong way, and her occasional liking for a cigarette is looked on as a vice. If there is any point on which Margaret might be given praise and encouragement she lias been left uninformed of the fact. 1 put to the young patient the point of view that all this was the cause of her disease, and after an hour’s arguing tears gave way to a ohins-up sort of smile, and although I do not expect a miraculous cure overnight, I have the feeling that a distinct improvement may be apparent in a week or two.

The effect of mind over matter lias been discussed for thousands of years, and it still remains a problem of modern medicine. Names in this Diary are fictitious. (Copyright.)