IN AND AROUND THE HOSPITAL WARD.

Waikato Times, Volume 103, Issue 17411, 25 May 1928, Page 10

IN AND AROUND THE HOSPITAL WARD.

A very welcome cheap reprint is Viscount Knutsford’s “In Black and White.” The distinguished 1 author is most closely identified in the public mind with his chairmanship of the London Hospital, on which by his labours he has conferred untold benefits. Viscount Knutsford’s gift of story-telling, which he may have inherited from his great-grand-father, Sydney Smith, is too well known to need comment. And naturally the work of his heart supplies him his best material. The result is a book of memories and anecdotes rich in humour and mellow with kindly understanding. Co-operation. The prestige of the doctor is one of the most notable elements in the faith-heal-ing upon which all medical men to some extent rely, as the following story indicates : “One of the surgeons at the London Hospital, Jeremiah McCarthy, once told me a story about njy grand-father. One of McCarthy’s first operations had been on a lady whoso home was in Berkeley Square, and whoso parents were anxious about her heart, and so asked McCarthy if he would mind Sir Henry Holland being asked to sound her heart. °‘ ‘I, of course,’ said McCarthy, ‘raised no objection, and your grandfather was sent for. He came, trotted into the room, and then told me to listen to the heart. I said, “Not in your presence, Sir Henry. It is your opinion they want.” “ ‘You listen first and then I will,” he replied. So I listened and he listened, after which we adjourned downstairs for the consultation, and your grandfather said: —■’ “ What did you hear, McCarthy? I am deaf.” “I never heard, though, what happened to the fee.” His One Joke. Like men of a single novel, a single poem, or a single speech, the man of a single joke generally produces something quite remarkable : —^ “I have told the story Mr Jeremiah McCarthy told me about my grandfather, Sir Henry Holland, and in turn I can tell a story of McCarthy himself. He was a very solemn man, and it is said of him that only once in his hospital career was he known to have made a joke. He used to stalk around in inis wards in an abstracted silence that tne students resented, as they wanted to learn from hi®. Once a student, bolder than the rest, tried to get a rise out of him. He asked his question. No answer. He then asked : ‘Did you not hear me, sir ? \ ou made no answer.’ McCarthy looked up: “Did Balaam?’ ” Leaving in Company. The act of slipping on a banana skin is funnv or not according as it is viewed from the upright or prostrate point of view, and so it is with this story - Awful things sometimes happen in the nursing world, but I am not telling this one of ‘The London.’ It is best told as it occurred —telephone way:— “Weary Voice: Is that Hospital? Matron’s Office ? ... “Matron’s Office (brightly): A es, this is Matron’s Office. What can we do for you ? Voice: Can you tell me where Nurse X is ? “Matron’s Office (stiffly) : No, we cannot tell you where Nurse X is. “Weary Voice: Oanflot you tell me at all where she is? “Matron’s Office (crushingly) : No, Nurse X has left. “Weary Voice: Oh, I know she’s left. She’s left with my husband.” The Patient Died. The abilitv to rise to an emergency is one for which nnrses are blessedly famous, though not always in this fashion. l- -A sx23E «oi .■gin jmraes \jere_f|> for

their and ‘Honours examination and, as usual, two beds were provided each with its ‘patient,’ one a small conva lescent hoy from one of the wards, for the purposes of practical demonstration, bandaging, splint fitting, and so on. The examiner went up to one bed and told the candidate that she was to imagine that the patient had had an accident and had been brought in with a fractured base—what would she do? She was nervous and could not collect her thougths, so the examiner, very kindly, wishing to give her every chance, left her and went off to the other bed to start with another candidate. He came back to find the patient stiff and still, eyes closed, and his hands folded decorously across the breast. “‘Good heavens! Fractured bases don’t all die.” “This one did,’ replied the candidate firmly.” . A Double Knock-out. In nothing does Viscount Knutsford more show his kinship with the great Sydney than in his readiness of mind: — "“It was at some public dinner or luncheon that ‘nursing smiles’ gave me an amusing rightj and left at two High Church dignitaries. Tho Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Bourne, was on one side of me and the Bishop of London on the other. I told Cardinal Bourne how one of the sisters of tho London Hospital had gone up to a patient and said : “ ‘I hear from nurse that you arc constipated.’ “ ‘lt’s a lie, sister. I’ve been a Roman Catholic all my life.’ “Then I turned to the Bishop of London and asked him if he thought our Church was losing its influence. 1 “‘Why? Why do you ask that? What makes you think so ?’ “ ‘Because one of the sisters asked a patient if He belonged to the Church of England, and got tho indignant, reply: “No, I don't. I'm Hearts of Oak.” ’ “Neither excommunicated me. and neither seemed to fear that his Church was in danger.” To Make Life Easy. The following story has had a justly celebrated currency, hut its present rider deserves to be better known: “ ‘Tommy’ Openshaw, officially known as Mr Thomas Horrooks Openshaw, C. 8., C.M.G., M.S., F.R.C.S., one of the consulting surgeons at ‘The London,’ once went into a ward to see how a patient he had operated on two days before was getting on. It was visiting day and the patient had friends by his bedside, and ‘Tommy’ overheard one of them say, ‘These surgeons are very careless. I’ve been told they sometimes leaves a sponge in a fellow.’ ‘Yes,’ agreed the other friend, ‘and I’ve heard of ’em leaving forceps in von.’ Then ‘Tommy’ boiled over. ‘Sister,’ he called, loudly, ‘have you come across my walking stick ? I had it here two days ago and I’ve lost it.’ “I imagine that the sick man must have felt like that other patient who, after endless central operations, is said to have begged his surgeon to put in buttons instead of stitches, and so make future life simpler.” The Aberdonian Touch. . In a chapter of great interest Viscount Knutsford shows in how many ways the springs of philanthropy may be tapped, He himself is known as “The Prince of Beggars” : “A gentleman once corrected me and my exuberance very neatly. I think lie must have come from Aberdeen. 1 was told that someone in tho outer office had just brought up £SO for the hospital, and naturally I hurried out to return thanks and having thanked the donor in orthodox style, I went on : “‘I suppose you brought this up to save vour soul ?’ “ ‘Mv soul ? Oh, dear no. 1 brought it my sell to save postage.’ “