Start theatre with a twin Caesarian, then a couple of curettes and a hysterectomy. Transfer a twenty-five week pregnancy with heavy bleeding and threatened labour by helicopter and treat two women with hyperemesis who are both sitting in the corridor of the casualty department, both greenish and exhausted; then a ward round including an insulin-dependent diabetic with pre-eclampsia who would rather be home. I say to her: me too.
I do manage to get home for lunch and a few minutes of quiet reading
while the cat enjoys the brief anomalous sunshine in the middle of a miserable cold wet day, lying on the rug we bought in Turkey on a windsurfing holiday we thought would be one of many but has not been repeated in twenty-five years.
It is a traditional hand-made kelle from Milas using only natural dyes such as tobacco and cochineal, and avoiding any images of living things. It is not as bright as the more popular designs but gives us a feeling of natural warmth and constantly reminds us of our sunny Mediterranean holiday.
Returning to work it becomes dark and rains heavily.
The afternoon clinic is a random selection. One of my patients is taking "chia" for the calcium content. I have not heard of it so I look it up on Wikipedia. It is a type of Salvia (Salvia hispanica), the largest group in the mint family, which includes culinary sage (Salvia officinalis) and a number of ornamental garden plants. It doesn't look very appetising.
My last patient has a familiar family name and I find that she is the niece of a friend from my schooldays, my old chemistry prac partner who dropped out of medicine to have a baby.There is a strong family resemblance. It is distracting to be looking at those same eyes that I once knew so well, evoking emotional memories from my turbulent adolescence. There was some interest on both sides, I like to think, but possibilities were overtaken by events, and now here I am, disconcertingly staring into the same eyes. She tells me a little of her many aunts and uncles, but they are not an important part of her life which revolves more around her marriage and religious community.At length I recover myself and continue with the consultation. God forbid that your doctor once fancied your aunt in ancient times.
Later I collect some pies from the supermarket for dinner with my daughter. As I enter the driveway the bins are still sitting undisturbed by the road. Over dinner I tell my daughter about this patient who reminds me of my past life, keeping confidentiality of course. She waits for me to finish and says that she likes the pies, and can I take her into school tomorrow?
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