Doctor's Retirement

At the end of 2011 I posted a slightly embellished article about an incident in the doctor’s surgery; shortly after that I had a bit of a moan because I’d heard the doctor was retiring. It was such a shock to his loyal patients and I wondered what I could do to lift the occasion. Let’s face it, there’s not a lot a girl can do when a man decides to get out of her life but I felt I had to do something.

So I made a card. I chose the above picture, a scene from our local country park, and turned it into a greeting card with this inscription on the inside.

Then I set about writing a story in letter form. Since I had so recently composed the above mentioned article, I decided to utilise some of it in the letter. This sort of thing saves on brain power and I’m all for saving what’s left of mine. This is what I ended up with.

~~~

The waiting area felt summer warm although in December one would expect otherwise. There was also a smell of lavender, possibly sprayed when the room was devoid of people or, more likely, the scent worn by a female patient. A small overhead radio, set to provide music, was responsible for a lot of toe tapping in tempo. One elderly bearded gent grinned as he rapped his knuckles against his walking stick before breaking out in a shrill whistle. Next to him was an old lady in a grey coat with hair to match. Probably his wife, I thought, noticing the way she frowned.

There were only four chairs, three occupied by men and a fourth by the aforesaid old lady. I could understand the old guy next to her not standing up to give me a seat but there was no excuse for the other two. Women’s libbers have a lot to answer for, don’t you think? I couldn’t even get to sort through the books even if I’d wanted to.

A peal of laughter filtered out from the doctor’s room. Someone, it sounded like a man, was enjoying the visit here. But then, didn’t we all.

Mostly the atmosphere was hushed, that is until the little guy nearest the leaflet rack suddenly announced that Doctor Broomhead was about to retire.

His neighbour, a rough diamond if ever I saw one, rounded on him, saying ‘You’re havin’ a larf, aint you, mate?’

‘No,’ the little man whispered, seeming to shrink as he said it. ‘He’s going at Christmas.’

‘Well,’ said the bruiser, ‘that ain’t on, mate.’

The woman in grey piped up then, ‘It must be his age,’ she said.

‘Well, I ain’t havin’ it,’ went the guy, who was now red in the face and looking as if he was ready for a punch-up. ‘What about his patients, that’s what I want to know. Don’t our years of loyalty count for anything?’

I had to admit he had a point. Still the doc had to go sometime; it was just that now didn’t seem like the right time.

Another burst of laughter. Someone was certainly enjoying a bit of a joke.

I got to thinking about the doc, remembering the first time I came to his surgery. I was impressed by his caring manner. Before moving to the area I’d been looked after by a younger medical practitioner who hadn’t developed much savoir-faire. It was so refreshing to have a doctor who not only cared but went out of his way to be a friend. And I swear he could perform miracles. Look at the time I was turned down for a hip operation by a local hospital, when the doc took steps to get me seen elsewhere. I was in and out in no time. While others were on a two year waiting list, I walked out with a brand new hip. That man was high up in my estimation. Miracle performer par excellence!

It struck me then that Charles Broomhead’s objective was to make us all feel cheerful. Certainly there was never a dull moment with him. As well as having a typical bedside manner he is everything a doctor should be, practical, sensible, soothing, and friendly. Above all he instils a sense of wellbeing in his patients. I guess I shall soon have to use the past tense, and that’s sad!

While I waited I got to thinking about my visits. Regardless of why I needed to see him I always looked forward to visiting the surgery because I knew Doc and I would banter with each other. He would tease about the WI and the cakes but he always showed an interest. Yes, I have to say that if ever I felt a bit low he would sweep it away in a trice and I always came out of his room feeling good. I reasoned that it was because we’d known each for years but in reality he treated everyone the same.

I should have suggested he had a motto printed and framed in his room … something to the effect that laughter is the best medicine … and now it’s too late.

There’s only one way to deal with bad news and that’s to face it head on. So… have a great retirement, Doc, and I hope you flippin’ well miss us like we’ll miss you. Cheers, don’t you go worrying about us now, just enjoy your retirement.

Written by me and approved by him

(that’s because both my Guy and I are/were patients)

~~~

An appointment was made to see the doctor and on the due date I took the card and story with me. After he’d taken my blood pressure, we had a nice little chat. He told me about the plans he'd made for his retirement and I remarked that he should be having a rest instead of racing across seas in yachts or doing mature university courses in photography. Heehee, he said that I hadn’t taken it easy when I retired so why should he. There was no answer to that. At the end of the session I handed him the card, wished him well, and that was that. Amen! I have yet to meet his replacement but right now I’m still getting over losing a brilliant doctor.

Visiting the Doctor

My appointment was late afternoon, right after work, and since there wasn’t enough time to make the journey home and back I settled down to wait.

Sunlight streamed through the window making the crowded waiting room feel quite warm. There was also a smell of lavender, obviously sprayed when the room was devoid of people. A small overhead radio, set to provide music, was responsible for a lot of toe tapping in tempo. One elderly bearded gent grinned as he rapped his knuckles against his walking stick before breaking out in a shrill whistle. Next to him an old lady frowned. Probably his wife, I thought.

I had chosen a seat at the far end of the narrow room so that I could flick through the heap of magazines on a small table. The ones I’d brought the week before were no longer there; pinched probably by someone called in before finishing an article. It was terribly frustrating to get half way and then never know how it ended. That was as bad as having to return a library book before it was finished.

From where I sat I could hear laughter on the other side of the door. Someone, it sounded like a man, was enjoying the visit here. But then, didn’t we all.

Not all of the people were waiting to go in the same room. I knew this by the timing of the appointments ... and judging by the signs of agitation (checking watches and nervous twitches) I could work out who was running late. Thankfully it didn’t affect me. I was booked to see the lovely Doctor Charlesworth and although he was worth waiting for he rarely kept anyone hanging around.

Another burst of laughter. Someone was certainly enjoying a bit of a joke.

The gent with the stick grinned, wiped a folded handkerchief across his brow, then toppled forward. I thought he’d just slipped off his chair but apparently he was, in the words of the lady next to him, ‘having a turn.’

It was all go after that. While everyone stood round him, looking and not doing anything, I hammered on the doctor’s door and thrust it open. If things hadn’t been so fraught in the waiting room I might have stopped to laugh at the patient standing with his back to me, naked all except for a singlet. In a lighter moment I might have wished he’d turn round, I might then have had an inkling why there had been so much laughter.

Doctor Charlesworth was the first medical personage on the scene. As he came through the door bells started to ring in the distance and almost immediately a flurry of uniforms headed to where the old man had collapsed. The small crowd shifted to make way and I took it upon myself to usher them into the surgery. It was the right thing to do since the man’s prone body was blocking the way to the exit but I don’t think the semi-naked patient thought much of it. I remember smirking and giving a sort of half-wink as he dashed into the cubicle and pulled the curtain. It was just his luck that the rings stuck on the rod; all he could do was drape it across his nether regions.

Just as I was debating whether to pass the man his coat, which he’d casually draped over a chair, the doc came back in. ‘All’s well,’ he announced, and went on to thank me for my prompt action.

His patient snorted behind the curtain.

After telling me that an ambulance was on its way to collect the old guy he advised me to go outside and wait for my turn. ‘You know me, Val, I don’t give preferential treatment to the WI.’ His eyes twinkled with merriment.

Since my turn was at least two people away I decided to visit the ladies room situated on the far side of Reception. The old guy was still there but now he seemed to have recovered from his ordeal. He was talking to one of the nurses and I heard him say ‘Thanks to him, if and when I die I shall go out laughing.’

It struck me then that Doctor Charlesworth’s objective was to make us all feel cheerful. Certainly there was never a dull moment when I visited. I know the naked patient incident was a stroke of fate but let’s face it he and the doc were having a good laugh over something before the old guy crashed out. Doc has a typical bedside manner when needs be. He is everything a doctor should be, practical, sensible, soothing, and friendly. Above all he instils a sense of wellbeing in his patients.

While I waited I got to thinking about my visits. I always looked forward to going to the surgery because I knew Doc and I would banter with each other. If ever I felt a bit low he would sweep it away in a trice and I ALWAYS came out of his room feeling happy. I reasoned that it was because we’d known each for years but what I hadn’t realised was that he treated everyone the same. I’m going to suggest he has a motto printed and framed in his room … something to the effect that laughter is the best remedy.

(True story, slightly embellished!)