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A DAY IN THE DOCTOR’S SURGERY

When we visit our doctors we like to impress them. We try to use medical jargons just so we may impress them. We even try to make our own diagnosis. Some of the things we say make the doctors laugh. Other things we do make them cringe.

A medical student gives an account of his experience in a doctor’s surgery. He sees and hears so many things. His dossier makes me laugh from the beginning to the end.

Here are clips from the book:

A woman came to see the doctor. She had been coughing for one week.

“Doctor, I have coughed up my cerebrum,” she reported.

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“Doctor, my girlfriend has run away with one of my balls,” he reported. “I want you to confirm before I report to the police.”

An elderly man came to see the doctor. One of his teeth had come out.

“How did it happen?” the doctor asked.

“I did it on a chicken thigh,” he replied.

Wow! the student’s dossier, A Day In The Doctor’s Surgery, blew my mind. I couldn’t stop laughing.

What is it like to have dinner with Dr Braver?

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What is it like to have dinner with Dr Braver?

I accepted the invitation to visit the Bravers with mixed feelings. On one hand, I could not imagine that a person who I perceived to hate me so much could invite me for a meal. I thought he was looking for an opportunity to humiliate me. He had done that in the front of patients, nurses, his secretary and medical staff. Now, he needed to ridicule me before his family. My other mind was telling me to give him a chance. Maybe he had a different side to his character. A normal aspect outside of work. Other doctors and nurses had been talking about the Bravers’ party for days. All the people that I mentioned it to indicated they would attend.

I was the last guest to arrive. At first, I was hesitant to join the guests. I stood on the front corridor hoping that someone would pop outside to have a smoke or something or a late arrival would turn up and we could go in together. There was a lot of talking and giggling going on. I could hear the chink of glasses amidst the chatter and laughter. Everyone seemed to be in full gear.

“My African friend!” Dr Braver exclaimed with his usual shallow smile, holding a large half empty bottle of Vodka in one hand.

“Good evening,” I said to Dr Braver and his wife. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh, it’s always a pleasure,” Mrs Braver replied. Mrs Braver stood by her husband, smiling warmly as she welcomed me into the lavishly decorated banquet hall. She wore an Indian Satin with a matching heavy gold necklace. Dr Braver was looking really posh in his navy blue dinner suit, I almost did not recognise him.

We had expected to have Chinese take-away for the Christmas party, as Dr Braver had said earlier, because his wife could not cook! In truth, I could not say for sure if Mrs Braver actually did the cooking or someone else did. To be honest, I cared less who cooked the food and whether it was Chinese take-away or Cantonese sit down to eat. All I knew was that it looked good and there was a lot of it. The three long tables had all sorts of food displayed and this jumbo was capped with a large whole roasted pock that stood strategically in the middle of all the other food. I had never seen so much food displayed, even back home in Africa.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I cannot say, ‘feel at home,’ as you are already at home. The only thing to say, is that no one leaves until all the food is gone,” Dr Braver said, as we took our seats according to our names on the table.

I wanted to quickly eat my food and get out of this place. But that would look uncivilised. Besides, many of the food items on the table were strange to me. I didn’t have any problem with the pork and rice but I couldn’t figure out how to combine the various items.

“Here you go,” Mrs Braver said, as she placed the plate full of rice, roast potatoes, diced carrots, sprouts and the shin of pork in front of me. She must have thought that I needed a tonne of food to support my one hundred and twenty kilograms body. And she seemed to know my weakness. Meat. I could eat a whole cow.
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“Thank you, mam,” I said. She didn’t seem to mind me referring to her as “mam,” which made me feel really relaxed.

I was struggling with the bone of the pork when Dr Braver stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I have no doubt you are all enjoying yourselves. Everybody seems happy. I am glad. When you are happy I am happy.”

We all clapped. Not really because of what he had said but there had been a lot of ethanol in our brains.

“And my African friend, you don’t have to crack your canines. There is enough flesh. Makes me wonder what you give your dogs in Africa,” he said and sipped from his bottle of Vodka.

“Oh, we give them plenty of chocolate,” I replied.

And everyone broke into laughter. Initially some people did not understand the joke but as the meaning became clear the laughter was truly unending.

“That’s a good one,” he said, after sipping again at his Vodka.

After the meal, we all dispersed into small gatherings. Dr Braver had undone his tie. He was no more wearing his jacket. His trouser was partly unbuttoned. He sat down in one of the settees, humming a tune with his pipe at the corner of his mouth and a newly opened bottle of Vodka beside him. Completely pissed off, he responded, “Yes,” to every question his wife asked him.

I got back to my flat just before midnight, feeling like I had swallowed an elephant. And as I lay in bed, massaging my stomach, I could not stop wondering what to make of Dr Braver. One thing was certain, the food was tasty and I had a lot of it.

I Can’t Pronounce This

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I Can’t Pronounce This

I don’t like visiting doctors. Not that I don’t like the medical profession. Of course, my own doctor is excellent in every way. She is caring and trustworthy. But maybe it’s just because I am a man. Men don’t like to complain about their health and so tend to delay going to see their doctors. Women, on the other hand, generally seek help early.

As expected, the waiting room was packed full with women and elderly people. I quietly went in, avoiding any eye contact and settled in one of the chairs at the far end of the room, hoping that I wouldn’t have to stay long before they called me in for my health check.

As I sat down, one nurse came to the door with a piece of paper in her hand. She looked at the paper and murmured something. All the people in the room turned their faces to my side. I didn’t know what to make of it. I felt uncomfortable, and almost asked the receptionist if there was something that I was supposed to do that I hadn’t done. I brought out my phone and started playing one of my favourite games. I just needed something to take my attention.

The nurse appeared again through the door. After clearing her throat, she scratched her head and murmured something again. This time I thought I heard, “Mr O … I can’t pronounce this.” She went back in as the people in the waiting room turned their faces to my side. Then the old woman who sat next to me, asked, “Is that you?” Not knowing what she meant, I replied, “Sorry?”

“Oh, I thought the nurse was calling you.” The old woman said.

“I didn’t hear her call my name.”

“I think she is finding it difficult to call your name.

I didn’t want to be rude to this woman. But I couldn’t help asking her, “How did you know that she can’t pronounce my name?”

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“Oh, I see.” I said.

Just then, the nurse appeared at the door, and after looking at the piece of paper in her hand, walked towards me. I pretended to be busy playing my game and avoided her eye contact.

“Mr, em, I can’t pronounce your name. You’re next.” She said, as she tapped my shoulder.

I looked up. Of course, my name is not “Mr I can’t pronounce your name.” Trying not to be rude to the nurse or create a scene, I politely informed her, “The name is Olusegun Popoola. All the alphabets are English, my dear.”

“Oh!” She said, but she never tried to master the pronunciation of my name.

As I followed this nurse into her room for my health check, I wondered how Dr Chukwuemeka Azuibike would have felt when Dr Braver asked him what his name meant in English.

If you want to make someone welcomed, call his name and if you can say a word or two in their language, the better. Try this and your client will not feel alienated.

If you want to befriend a people, learn to speak their language, call them by their names, respect their beliefs and values, understand and respect their differences and they will in return bestow their trust on you.

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DR WORKAHOLIC

Dr Braver stood up and faced his wife. And pointing his fingers at her face, he roared, “Don’t you ever call me mad, stupid woman!” Mrs Braver stepped backward and shouted venomously, “You know what you are? An idiot. That’s what you are, Dr workaholic.” “There’s nothing wrong with being a good doctor. I do my job dedicatedly, caring for my patients. And if that in your dictionary is ‘workaholic‘ that’s your problem.” “Maybe it’s my problem but other dedicated doctors have time for their family.” “Of course, I have time for my family. What d’you mean I don’t have time for my family?” “Nonsense! Nonsense upon nonsense,” Jezzie snapped as she stepped forward, her face almost touching her husband’s. Dr Braver lowered his voice and reassured Mrs Braver, “You know I care about you lot. I care so much,” he said, as he gently touched his wife’s shoulder. Mrs Braver stepped backwards and turned her face away as she said, “If you care about your family then you would not ignore the message I left that your son has been taken ill.” Dr Braver shouted almost ripping his vocal cords. “No. That can’t be true. I had no such message. Originating in the mountainous regions of Peru, maca’s history 100mg viagra professional dates back more than 2000 years. After simple radios that could only transmit the message, walkie talkie came in canadian levitra check that web-site existence. Just never forget that if you bring your girl to a club and she is halfway decent looking then you’d better expect her to be approached by guys. buy discount viagra They are http://pharma-bi.com/2009/06/tableau-picturing-data-on-a-virtual-canvas/ buy cialis brand full of fiber, minerals and vitamins, including fulvic acid. You know I will never ignore your call.” “No I don’t. At least not when you are at work.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Jezzie. I may be dedicated to my job. Or perhaps eccentric at times. But that does not mean that I don’t care about my family.” “Don’t tell me you care about the family,” Jezzie snapped, “Of course you don’t.” Then the couple stared accusingly at each other in an uncomfortable tranquility. The argument had been going on for over twenty minutes. Unknown to them, Oliver had sneaked out of the living room in search of peace. Of course, he was used to this kind of argument. When his parents had an argument, neither of them would pipe low for the other. He sat on the floor of his room and Lionheart lay down sympathetically beside him. BUY FROM AMAZON

The Heartsink Patient

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The Heartsink Patient

As I sat in my consulting room waiting for the nurse to fetch notes from Dr Braver’s room, I heard a light tap on my door but no one entered when I said, “Come in.” I walked to the door and as I opened, the auxiliary nurse had been struggling to open the door with one hand whilst the other hand supported the huge sets of notes to her chest. I helped her with the door as I wondered why, after a long period when I virtually did nothing, I now had to see so many patients within the remaining period and the clinic would be ending shortly.

“Dr Braver has had to leave. I think it might be his wife that phoned him as he seemed to be in a hurry when he left. You know what he’s like when Mrs Braver phones. Sounded like he was taking her to the hair dresser.”

“So, he wants me to see all of these this morning? Tough.”

“Yes. He said you should make sure you see all the patients and phone him with every case that you saw.” The auxiliary nurse said, as she carefully placed the notes on the floor close to my desk.

“This must be a joke!” I exclaimed, “Never mind. Hopefully he would return to the clinic.”

“I doubt very much.” She said, as she prepared to call the first of the patients into my consulting room.

My heart sank as the auxiliary nurse ushered in the patient. I had seen her before and I felt like telling her to rebook on another day to see the boss himself. She was a patient that never smiled. She looked thinner than she did the last time that I saw her and the look on her face today was that of the devil just woken. But that wasn’t the reason why my heart sank. The first time I saw her was on the ward when she was admitted for investigation of her abdominal pain. Dr Braver had recommended an exploratory laparotomy to her. But she declined. That did not surprise me after reading her case history. The first operation that she had was laparoscopic appendicectomy, the removal of the appendix through the keyhole method. Prior to having the operation, she had been complaining of pain in the lower part of her tummy. Dr Braver told her that she had a grumbling appendix and that her pain would settle after he had removed the appendix. She suffered an injury to her large bowel which resulted in having a colostomy. On her insistence, Dr Braver took her back to theatre to rejoin the bowels after three weeks. The joined bowels broke down and Dr Braver yet again took her back to theatre to have the colostomy restored. The restored stoma broke down and she had to undergo further surgery. After four weeks Dr Braver had planned to close her colostomy but she developed a deep vein thrombosis. Now her legs were permanently swollen. She was still complaining of abdominal pain. She was as thin as bone and smoked like a chimney.

“Oh he is not here today!” she said, as she settled down in the chair in front of me.

“Im sorry, Dr Braver has had to go to attend to an emergency,” I said, seeing the disappointment on her face. Normally, patient like her would be seen by the consultant as they usually were too complex for the junior doctor and were not satisfied.

“How come no one had told me?” She shouted. And after coughing several times, her chest still rattling, she said, “And I have sat down there for two hours waiting to see the consultant!”

“I am sorry.” I said, with empathy.

I didn’t know what else to say. She was right. Someone should have told her she was not going to see Dr Braver. At least, it would have been up to her to decide if she would like to see me. It made me wonder how many patients waiting out there were hoping to see the consultant.

“Not your fault, I guess,” she said, as she stared uncomfortably into my eyes.

“So how can I help you today?” I asked, unsure of her reason for her attendance. According to Dr Braver’s last letter to her GP, he had discharged her from his clinic. But she was now back and I could not find her new referral letter. It was probably in Dr Braver’s folder. He usually kept such letters in a special folder.

“You can’t help me. Look at the mess he had made on my tummy.” She got up and lifted her shirt to show me several scars on her abdomen.

“I see.” I said.

But I didn’t think that was the reason she had come back to see him. I waited expectantly to hear what more she was going to say.

“My pain has got worse. It’s tummy pain day in day out. I can’t eat. Look at me. I am now a walking skeleton.” She said, tears streaming out of her deep orbits.

“You said you can’t eat. What happens when you try to eat?” I asked.

“I have a good appetite but I daren’t put anything in my mouth.” She replied.

“Why?” I asked and screwed my eye.

“You are asking me, why? Have you not been listening. Or are you too telling me I am mad?” She shouted.

“Who said you were mad?” I asked softly.

“Him. The God himself. Luckily he is not here today. I would have shown him that I am truly a mad woman.”

“That sounds serious.” I cleared my throat and paused to regain my composure. “What about if I asked you to tell me more about how eating affects your stomach pain?”

She coughed again and almost choked as she replied, “When the food gets to my stomach I start with severe pain and this can go on for several hours. I am sweaty and feeling faint. The pain is so severe. It’s murder. I just can’t face food any more. Sometimes I thought it was better to die than live like this, because this is no life.”

After further questioning, I suspected that this woman had Mesenteric angina caused by some narrowing in the arteries of the bowels. This condition is common in long term heavy cigarette smokers. Patients with this condition have severe pain in their abdomen after eating. This is because, after eating, there is not enough blood flow to the bowels due to the narrowing of the arteries. I told her to lie down on the examination couch. And when I placed the bell of my stethoscope on the top part of her abdomen, I heard a loud bruit. I became more convinced of my diagnosis, but still needed to confirm it.
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I wasn’t sure if that was the problem with this woman. But I thought it would be prudent to rule it out. Nevertheless, I was careful not to raise her hope, knowing that Dr Braver could disagree with me, particularly, since that would make him feel less knowledgeable should that be the diagnosis. And of course, he could override my decision.

“So, what are you going to do?” She asked, now almost pleading.

“I am just thinking. I’m not sure. I just wondered if we should rule out a condition that can sometimes cause this kind of pain. But that would mean having to undergo further tests.”

“I don’t care what tests you do as long as you find out what the problem is. Nothing can be worse than the pain I have been having.” Her face became less narrow, showing a glimpse of hope.

“Okay then. I just need to nip to the X-ray department to chat with the radiologist.” I said.

The woman needed to have a special scan to diagnose the problem. I had to do this before Dr Braver got to know. I knew I was taking a risk. If the scan turned out to be negative it would be real trouble. But if the diagnosis was confirmed it would be a relief for everyone although he would still criticise me for taking the liberty to organise an MRI scan without first discussing with him.

In the twinkle of an eye I had arrived in the X-ray department. I was glad that Dr Grayson was the duty radiologist. Unlike his colleagues, he was approachable and knew a great deal of clinical medicine. Having initially trained as a surgeon before becoming a radiologist, he was always very helpful when surgeons needed radiological input. Dr Grayson agreed with my suspicion. Fortunately, there was a cancellation and he was willing to perform the procedure that afternoon if the patient was prepared.

I raced back to the OPD, relieved that I was able to organise an MRI Angiogram within a few minutes, something that would normally take several weeks to arrange.

“You will be having your scan this afternoon madam.” I said, with a beam of smile.

“Oh thank you, doctor. Thank you. You are God sent.” She jumped up. Suddenly, her strength returned from nowhere. And for the first time after many months, she smiled as she hoped to see a way out of her predicament.

“I am not promising. And I’m not even sure if we will find anything. But I believe it’s worth a try.”

“As I said, I will try anything.” She said.

“Now, you better go and get yourself ready before Dr Grayson changes his mind.”

“Thank you again, Doctor.” She said, as she shut the door behind her.

Just before I called the next patient, there was a tap on the door. I thought the woman had come back to decline the MRI scan.

“What have you done to that woman?” Sister Bamforth asked, as she pushed through the door.

“Which woman?” I puzzled.

“The patient that you’ve sent to the X-ray department. She was singing your praises as the nurse took her to the department.”

“Oh God. I hope I have not raised her hope too highly.”

“I don’t think it mattered to her. And I don’t think anyone can stop her either.” She said.

“Oh well, I wish her good luck.” I said, trying to stop the discussion going further. I really didn’t have time for further gossips.

“You know the problem you have now got, doctor?”

“What?” I asked.

“The patients are now changing their mind. Many of them were trying to rebook their appointment. But they are now waiting to see you. That means, a long clinic.” She replied.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” I tried to draw the discussion to an end.

“Sure.” She said, as she swiftly walked out of the room.

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My Head Nearly Exploded

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As I wondered about going to her, my bleep went off. I almost dropped the bleep when I saw that the number that appeared on it was Dr Braver’s office. At first, I thought of ignoring it. After all, it was the end of the day and I could pretend to have left the hospital. But I knew, of course, that if Dr Braver wanted me he could phone me at home or wherever I might be and whatever the time might be. I remembered what my mother used to tell me, “If you stand up to your demons they would not overcome you.”

I dialled the number with trembling hand, hoping that no one would pick it. My heart stopped completely when he picked the phone. His voice was unmistakable.

“Doctor,” he commanded, “Leave whatever you are doing and get yourself here straightaway.”

“Yes, Dr Braver,” I replied, my heart now out of my body.

“This sounds serious,” I said to myself. But then, he always sounded serious whenever he called. Did he really believe that I was party to the gossips about the incident in the theatre today? Has he found out that I am dating his secretary or his wife fancies me? I battled with these thoughts as I raced to his office.

“Yes, Dr Braver?” I said, my armpit dripping with sweat.

“Tell me. Who told that idiot that I snipped the tip of her son’s willy when did his circumcision?”

“The idiot?” I asked, pretending not to know that he was referring to the boy’s mother.

“Yes, the boy’s mother,” he said, his voice stronger.

“I did not discuss with anyone. Besides, I don’t believe in discussing things that go on in the theatre. That is not my problem.”

“Alright then,” he said, as he pulled out a document, an A4 paper, from the printer, “Something for you to sign.”

“So, you want me to sign this paper?”
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“Exactly,” he said, smiling sarcastically.

“And if I don’t?”

“Your registration will cease.”

“So you want me to lie so you can recommend me to the GMC for continuation of my registration?”

“That’s the score, son,” he said, as he lit his pipe.

I felt like an elephant sat on my heart as I left Dr Braver’s office. I had had people say someone made them sign documents under duress. It happened daily in my country. Police would force people to sign fictitious document or to confess to what they did not do or face torture. Soldiers would force people to sign wrong documents at gunpoint. As for me, I had never experienced this. And I had always said that no one would make me sign any document that I didn’t want to sign. I often boasted to my friends whenever the issue came up, that I had the body of a heavy weight boxer and it would take several police officers to pin me down. They would have to shoot me before they would be able to compel me to do any wrong. But I guess, Dr Braver knew his career and credibility were on line. It would probably be less serious if he put the blame on his African registrar. But where would my own credibility lie in a world where nothing good seemed to come out of Africa? Whatever my belief, I thought, I was in a no win situation.

I needed to speak to someone. But whom would I trust? All of a sudden, I began to feel lonely. I wished I were back home. There, I would not run short of advisers, and good ones too. But here, I found it hard to trust any one. Still, I knew I had to talk to someone before my head exploded. The first person that came to my mind was Anna. I knew she was a straightforward person and she claimed to love me. But I felt guilty because despite all the fun I had with her, I still found it difficult to trust her. I wasn’t convinced that she did not have or had not had an affair with Dr Braver. May be I was being jealous, I wasn’t too sure.

I couldn’t get these thoughts out of my head as I walked back to my flat. Then I remembered my mother. When all else failed I could always count on her advice. An intelligent and forthright woman. I knew I could count on my mother’s advice. Probably the only one I could trust to give me an honest advice. My problem was, my mother was not medical. She would be unlikely to understand medical ethics and law. But one thing I knew was that she would not fault on common sense and would provide a balanced view.

Nevertheless, the thought of involving my mother frightened me. I did not want to cause panic at home. Since my father died I had become the provider for my mother and my siblings. If I told my mother that my boss had threatened to stop me from working if I didn’t sign the document, she would probably fly to the British High Commission to protest. But that was my mother. Even now in her eighties, she was a formidable woman. Tough and fearless. In the end, I decided to keep her out of the problem. I should be able to handle it myself as a matured man, I thought.

I had planned to go to the gymn after work. But I really no more felt like going out that evening. All I wanted was a large bowl of rice and peas and a can of lager. Whilst it was good to deal with a problem straightaway, there were times, I thought, when you would allow events to unravel naturally and every aspect of it would call for specific ways of resolving it. My conscience was clear. I had not done anything wrongly. And if Dr Braver decided to lay blames on me I would strongly defend myself.

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