When I worked with doctors a psychiatrist would often visit our office. He'd explain how to talk to medics, how to reason with them and how to cajole them out of their rages and tantrums.
He also had graphs illustrating the rates of alcoholism and mental illness in the profession, and these were broken down by medical speciality. Psychiatry and Anaesthetics were always highest in those graphs, so we were aware, when dealing with a particularly abusive Psychiatrist or Anaesthetist, that perhaps they might have certain unspoken problems.
GPs rarely featured at the top of these grim tables, and were, in my experience, the most pleasant doctors to deal with. As they seemed relatively normal, we'd often joke that GPs had an easy time of it, sitting in the surgery all day writing sick notes and giving babies their jags. They weren't so often shocked into alcoholism and mental illness. Or perhaps they were, our visiting psychiatrist reminded us, but were just skilled at hiding it. General Practice is the medical speciality with the most patient contact, so they perhaps learn faster than others to hide their problems.
Nonetheless, when informed I'd be working with a GP I'd always be relieved - particularly if they were Scottish, Welsh or Northern English GPs. Foul temper did seem to increase with one's proximity to London.
So I sat down to watch Confessions of a Doctor (Channel 4) wondering why the programme makers had focused on GPs, the 'nice' doctors. Surely they'd get more colourful material from other types?
The programme featured a range of GPs who would reveal what things were like in the era before health and safety and political correctness, back when doctors were still viewed with awe. Were things better in those good old days?
It began with a humorous tone, kicking off with 1960s footage of pretty nurses smooching with white-coated doctors. We heard tales of love affairs conducted in hospital cupboards. 'Marvellous!' slavered one old doctor, remembering the nurses' trim little outfits. 'Wonderful stuff!' This same doctor then revealed that his 'wonderful stuff' got a young nurse pregnant but he was able to arrange an abortion. 'The baby was sort of got rid of…' he gallantly explains.
This man's gallantry then sought to deny other women the freedom to seek an abortion. Once his own dalliance had been suitably attended to, he became self-righteous and was filmed clasping his hands in prayer. As a GP, he was able to place ugly pressure on young women who came to him for an abortion referral. The programme's early humorous tone had darkened. 'The dear Catholic Church has fine-tuned my conscience,' he explained.
The interviewer, off camera, asked if abortion should perhaps be the woman's choice. The pompous fool replied, 'perhaps it's the baby's choice. No-one asks the baby.'
How did he ever get a job, you might wonder? Which rational businessman - for GP practices are small businesses - would employ this man? Perhaps it's something to do with the lack of job interviews. In the 'good old days', a young GP underwent 'trial by sherry', where they'd meet socially with the partners of their prospective practice. Their wife would also be inspected, to ensure the little woman had a pleasing telephone voice.
What supreme arrogance: no need for interviews, questions and references, just chatter politely and have a wife with a posh accent. And many of the GPs in this programme pined for that lost era of deference and respect. 'Mistakes were made,' says one, 'but patients weren't educated enough to know.' Ah, the good old days…
At this point I realised why the programme had opted for GPs. If this is what the 'nice doctors' were saying then God knows what the London surgeons would be spouting. It might not be fit for TV.
But it's not acceptable to wonder, or ask. 'Patients didn't ask questions in those days,' says one GP. 'It was up to us. We decided what to do!'
Amidst the displays of male privilege and spectacular arrogance was one twinkling light: Dr Elizabeth 'Libby' Wilson who practised in Glasgow in the 60s and 70s, making sure women worn out by childbearing had access to contraceptive drugs. If a moronic husband didn't approve then Dr Wilson would secretly meet the woman in the local steamie and, safe amongst the bustle and noise, would 'give her a little jag in the backside'.
This programme accurately summed up my experience of working with doctors: a loud parade of arrogant men but, working quietly amidst all the shouting, blustering, boasting and money grabbing are some real diamonds who can make you feel rather humble. But they rarely force their way into our attention or our TV screens; they're usually too busy working.
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