Raging Against Time
by
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He then resumed his invigorating progression to the first of his wards, with a brisk, “Keep up; follow me.” Approaching the double half glazed doors, they were majestically opened without our having the need to slacken pace, revealing the ward sister within. In her white lace hat, pristine navy blue uniform, which denoted her senior status, with black belt and ornate silver buckle, she had undoubtedly been waiting expectantly to greet his seigniorial appearance at the entrance. Slightly to the rear she was accompanied by an attractive bevy of smart light blue uniformed white-capped younger nursing minions in black stockings, behind who were a small group of distinctive student nurses and two of the medical staff. The first exchange of greeting, as we passed was from Dr. Davies.
“Good morning Sister.”
“Good morning Sir.” Responded the ward sister, with almost a hint of an obsequious curtsy. I felt certain that had they guns, swords, or even bed pans to hand there would have been a call. “Present arms.”
We followed onwards behind our consultant, contentedly basking in his glory, gliding past rows of immaculately made beds, within each was a fresh, neatly washed and polished patient, reflected on an equally shiny clean floor. As we passed there was little doubt that certain medical student eyes had ensnared those of blushing recipient student nurses. The consequence was that three years later, the day after we qualified, six men in our year married nurses and more followed suit.
Our first task that morning was to learn the regulation manner in which hospital beds were made. This entailed individual instruction under one of the junior nurses, after which we had to make such a bed unaided. With tuition under such pretty instructors there was a 100% failure rate amongst the men. We all failed miserably at those first attempts. Had it not been for the eagle eye of the sister there were doubtlessly some amongst us who might have spent hours, or possibly days, returning to the same captivating smile of the instructing nurse, struggling for extra tuition in nothing more formidable than bed making. ………
………. “I was newly qualified and held a very junior national service medical officer post in the army when I was consulted by an extremely senior General on the base. He strode into my office, a supercilious, no nonsense and cantankerous old devil, with crowns and stars galore on epaulettes, a baton gripped in his hand and held firmly under his arm. He was most intimidating. I’d only been in the army a few days, when in he marched. I rose from my desk as he entered and saluted smartly.
He had some trivial skin disorder. I knew nothing about skins, but without letting on, I insisted.
“Sir, this might be trivial but it could presage something more serious and I must give you a thorough medical examination.”
“He stated that it was quite right and commendable that I should be so thorough. He removed his shirt and as I percussed, auscultated and palpated all over, I detected he’d become a little more impressed with my thoroughness. When he thought I’d finished and started to replace his clothes I explained that it was essential to perform a rectal examination. He was reluctant to consent, but I stood my ground, firmly explaining that it was an essential requirement. Finally he agreed and I requested very politely that he turn on his left side as he lay on the couch, lowering his pants and pulling up his knees. I then inserted a lubricated gloved finger to perform the examination.”
“As my finger slid into the old boy’s anus, you could virtually see and as I listened I thought I could even hear his officer’s ranking pips popping off his red epaulettes dropping one by one onto the floor. By the time I’d completed the medical and as he dressed he wasn’t the same gruff, supercilious senior officer of twenty minutes earlier. As I reassured him he was fit and well, his skin ailment had become a forgotten trivia. He became most amiable. He didn’t go as far as to suggest I should address him by his first name, but he became most accommodating and gave me access to his private military plane, complete with pilot, whenever I wished during the remainder of my military service, telling me I had only to ask…..
………….Our first foray away from home was Labour Day weekend. We left after lunch, and travelled south. At the
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About the Book
The author has written of his practice as a young doctor in a remote area of the Canadian prairies. He takes the reader briefly through his childhood years from 1939 as a wartime evacuee to his entry into medical college. There follows an outline of his medical education in
His single handed practice in
On his return to the
About the Author
Arnold Powell was born and raised in
In co-operation with his wife he developed ‘Springdene Nursing and Care Homes’ and since retirement from general practice has embarked on a new career as an author. His first novel, published in 2006, ‘In Search of Henry’ was a romantic genealogical mystery. In celebration of his 50th alumni he has written an autobiography encompassing his first 10 years in medical practice.