the possibility of a missed diagnosis or a patient he had inadvertently upset. With no reply immediately forthcoming, he shrugged at his image, picked up the top set of notes and walked to the door.
The waiting room was already filling with an assortment of the local population, some well known to him. A couple of elderly women were busy chatting in the corner, wheeled shopping trolleys parked in front of them. In the centre of the room a young mother stood trying to soothe the crying baby in her arms, whilst two more of her children diligently distributed the contents of the toy box over the remaining available floor space.
To one side sat a middle-aged man in a pinstriped suit, the
Financial Times
held up in front of him as though it was a shield against the illnesses around him. His psychological discomfort was quite clear as pieces of Lego and the odd toy car bounced off his polished black shoes to the background musical accompaniment of a Postman Pat pop-up picture book. James grinned as he took in the various dynamics at play. People-watching could be a most entertaining pastime.
Spotting a somewhat rotund little man perched in a chair by the window James called his name and waited whilst the local Methodist Minister negotiated the toy-strewn floor before holding out his hand in greeting.
âGood morning, Mr Reynolds,â he said, gesturing for him to go first into the consulting room. âPlease do have a seat. How can I help you this morning?â he continued, closing the door and resuming his own seat at the desk.
* * *
Patient by patient, the morning accordingly passed in a steady round of sore throats, chest infections, medication reviews and renewal of sickness certificates until James finally said a polite goodbye to the last patient on his list. Pausing only to place his stethoscope in the black bag at the side of the desk, he walked out into the waiting room and down past the reception area to the senior partnerâs consulting room. Finding the door ajar, he gave a perfunctory couple of taps on the frame and entered.
âAh, James, come in, come in,â said Dr McGarva, swivelling round on his antique oak chair, its well-worn leather upholstery splitting in several places to reveal a coarse stuffing of horsehair. His left arm gesticulated in a theatrical manner that James took to be an invitation to sit on the only other available chair in his room; small and upright, its hard wooden seat was devoid of any cushioning. Dr McGarva did not approve of making his patients feel too comfortable.
âHow was the morning? Manage to sort out a few ear infections in between saving lives?â he asked with a chuckle, sliding down in his seat until his head perched on the backrest and his brown corduroy-trousered legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed. James smiled, knowing that this was simply a rueful joke at the expense of the type of work that was very much the routine in general medical practice.
âI noticed that you havenât many visits today, James,â he continued. With his elbows just managing to perch themselves on the armrests, he reached across the desk for a pile of medical notes.
âWell, actually I have got four new ones and a follow-up from yesterday,â James quickly corrected, not wishing to look as though he was failing to pull his weight.
âSplendid, splendid,â came the reply, attaching no significance to what James had just said. âI wondered if you wouldnât mind dropping in on Constance Halliday. Her daughter rang to say that her mother is confused again. She saw you five months ago about a similar problem and I always think continuity is important in such matters, donât you, James? And whilst youâre out that way,â he continued before James could reply, âcould you call on old Bill Greenstone at Lower March Farm? He probably just has another chest infection, but no point in two of us going the same way, is
The waiting room was already filling with an assortment of the local population, some well known to him. A couple of elderly women were busy chatting in the corner, wheeled shopping trolleys parked in front of them. In the centre of the room a young mother stood trying to soothe the crying baby in her arms, whilst two more of her children diligently distributed the contents of the toy box over the remaining available floor space.
To one side sat a middle-aged man in a pinstriped suit, the
Financial Times
held up in front of him as though it was a shield against the illnesses around him. His psychological discomfort was quite clear as pieces of Lego and the odd toy car bounced off his polished black shoes to the background musical accompaniment of a Postman Pat pop-up picture book. James grinned as he took in the various dynamics at play. People-watching could be a most entertaining pastime.
Spotting a somewhat rotund little man perched in a chair by the window James called his name and waited whilst the local Methodist Minister negotiated the toy-strewn floor before holding out his hand in greeting.
âGood morning, Mr Reynolds,â he said, gesturing for him to go first into the consulting room. âPlease do have a seat. How can I help you this morning?â he continued, closing the door and resuming his own seat at the desk.
* * *
Patient by patient, the morning accordingly passed in a steady round of sore throats, chest infections, medication reviews and renewal of sickness certificates until James finally said a polite goodbye to the last patient on his list. Pausing only to place his stethoscope in the black bag at the side of the desk, he walked out into the waiting room and down past the reception area to the senior partnerâs consulting room. Finding the door ajar, he gave a perfunctory couple of taps on the frame and entered.
âAh, James, come in, come in,â said Dr McGarva, swivelling round on his antique oak chair, its well-worn leather upholstery splitting in several places to reveal a coarse stuffing of horsehair. His left arm gesticulated in a theatrical manner that James took to be an invitation to sit on the only other available chair in his room; small and upright, its hard wooden seat was devoid of any cushioning. Dr McGarva did not approve of making his patients feel too comfortable.
âHow was the morning? Manage to sort out a few ear infections in between saving lives?â he asked with a chuckle, sliding down in his seat until his head perched on the backrest and his brown corduroy-trousered legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed. James smiled, knowing that this was simply a rueful joke at the expense of the type of work that was very much the routine in general medical practice.
âI noticed that you havenât many visits today, James,â he continued. With his elbows just managing to perch themselves on the armrests, he reached across the desk for a pile of medical notes.
âWell, actually I have got four new ones and a follow-up from yesterday,â James quickly corrected, not wishing to look as though he was failing to pull his weight.
âSplendid, splendid,â came the reply, attaching no significance to what James had just said. âI wondered if you wouldnât mind dropping in on Constance Halliday. Her daughter rang to say that her mother is confused again. She saw you five months ago about a similar problem and I always think continuity is important in such matters, donât you, James? And whilst youâre out that way,â he continued before James could reply, âcould you call on old Bill Greenstone at Lower March Farm? He probably just has another chest infection, but no point in two of us going the same way, is
Similar Books
