Doctor at Large

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Authors: Richard Gordon
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hesitation. ‘Patients do not appreciate what they do not pay for. That is surely recognized as one of the evils of the National Health Service? Now I really think you should be getting along, Doctor – your surgery is well over a mile away, and it is bad for the practice to arrive late.’
    I drove Haemorrhagic Hilda through the rain towards Football Ground Road, trying to suppress my feelings. If I were to be a GP I was going to be a damn good one, despite Hockett, Jasmine, a bed as uncomfortable as the rack in the Tower, and the effects of incipient frostbite and starvation. This determination wavered when I saw the surgery itself: it was a shop front with the glass painted bright green and DR HOCKETT’S SURGERY written across it in red, like the window of a four-ale bar.
    There was already a queue of patients on the pavement as I unlocked the door. Inside I found a single room filled with parish hall chairs, with a partitioned cubbyhole for the doctor in the corner. This cubbyhole was largely filled with filing cabinets, though there was an old examination couch, a small stained desk, a basin, a Bunsen burner, and an oil stove, which I immediately lit. I washed my hands, took out my fountain pen, put my head round the cubbyhole door, and said, ‘First patient, please.’
    A fat mother accompanied by a fat adolescent schoolgirl rose from the first line of chairs, and advanced on me with the expression of purposeful dislike used by women when demanding to see the manager.
    ‘ Adiposa familians ,’ I said brightly, as they entered.
    ‘What’s that?’ the mother asked sharply.
    ‘A Latin expression. Medical terminology. You wouldn’t understand it.’ I waved them towards the two chairs jammed beside the desk, placed my fingertips together, and began, ‘Now, what’s the trouble?’
    ‘Where’s the doctor?’ the mother asked.
    ‘I am the doctor.’
    ‘No, the real doctor.’
    ‘I assure you I am a perfectly real doctor,’ I said calmly. ‘Surely you don’t want me to produce my diploma?’
    ‘You’re Hockett’s new boy, are you?’
    ‘I am Dr Hockett’s most recent assistant, certainly.’
    She assessed me for some seconds.
    ‘Well, I can’t say I like the idea much of you meddling with our Eva,’ she declared. Eva was meanwhile staring at me malevolently, saying nothing, and picking her nose.
    ‘Either you want me as your daughter’s medical attendant or you don’t,’ I said emphatically. ‘If you don’t, you can take your National Health card elsewhere. I assure you I shall have no regrets about it whatever.’
    ‘It’s the chest,’ she said, nodding towards the girl.
    ‘What’s wrong with the chest?’
    ‘Cough, cough, cough all night long she does. Why, I never get a wink of sleep, I don’t sometimes,’ she added indignantly.
    ‘And how long have you had this cough, Eva?’ I asked, with my best professional smile.
    She made no reply.
    ‘Very well,’ I said, picking up my stethoscope. ‘I’d better start by examining her, I suppose. Off with your things, now.’
    ‘What, you mean take all her clothes off her chest?’ the mother asked in horror.
    ‘I mean take all her clothes off her chest. Otherwise I shall not be able to make a diagnosis, we won’t be able to start treatment, Eva will get worse, and you won’t get any sleep.’
    Eva said nothing as her mother peeled away several layers of cardigans, blouses, and vests. At last her chest was exposed. I laid my stethoscope over the heart, winked at her pleasantly, and said with a smile, ‘Big breaths.’
    A look of interest at last illuminated the child’s face. She glanced at me and grinned. ‘Yeth,’ she said proudly, ‘and I’m only thixteen.’
     
    The morning passed quickly. The patients came steadily to my cubbyhole, though every time I began to think of lunch and peeped outside there seemed to be as many waiting as ever. I was relieved to find that my work was reduced through most of them not needing a full

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