I know this is an odd title for a blog, but believe me, dear reader, my dear spouse had our lovely doctor in Scotland alternately reaching for the tranquilisers or the whisky bottle after a visit from him, at least I always imagined once the door had closed behind spouse and he was safely on his way home, that was what she would be doing. The last image of her before her surgery door closed was of a woman on the edge, holding her head in her hands. Next stop, the psychiatric ward.
I know, I can almost hear you thinking - what? That lovely, looney man upsetting a fine, upstanding member of the medical profession. Surely not. But, oh yes he did, on a regular basis. Our lovely doctor was a very kind and patient lady and very conscientious in the execution of her Hippocratic oath. Every three months spouse was summoned into her presence for his blood pressure, weight and blood cholesterol levels to be checked. Every three months? - That's a bit O.T.T. I hear you say. Ah, but. Doctor D as I will call her, had come to know spouse very well and knew that if a check was not kept on his weight and waistline, things could very easily gallop out of control. So stiffening up her sinews and summoning up the blood, she called for spouse to attend the surgery.
Cat and mouse was not in it, dear reader. Doctor D would be ready to pounce if the scales showed the poundage moving in a upward direction and spouse would always have a very convincing reason why it had - her scales were inaccurate, he had NOT put that much weight on, she needed to get them properly checked before she wasted her time checking on him. And his cholesterol levels could not possibly be that high - his wife had made him live on lettuce and lime juice for the last month. He always came away with his ears ringing from her lecture on the evils of FAT. But sadly for her, the next time he visited her den, a large poster was proudly displayed on her door listing the benefits of all the food groups. And what was the last one on the list - yes, you've guessed correctly. It was fat. Spouse joyfully pointed this one out to her. 'You see, Fat IS good for you, it says so there. Can't get away from that doc.' That was one of the head in her hands days when he left the surgery, triumphantly trumpeting the good news to all he met.
Spouse was prescribed Aspirin tablets for a while in line with contemporary medical thinking at the time. Some time after this he underwent a minor operation and was despatched from the hospital duly bandaged up with instructions to remove the dressings twenty fours later. Once home, spouse took to his bed with full-blown flu. I knew it was proper flu, as he refused all offers of food and I had to check and see if the sky had not fallen.
Twenty fours later and with his temperature still high, I set about removing the bandages from spouse's leg. My, my, not a pretty sight. It was obvious to me, a serious infection had set in. I will spare you the gory details. However, I did say to spouse that we had better set off for the doctors, tout suite if we wanted to keep his leg. Spouse's response was, 'No, it will be fine.' Knowing differently, I hauled him protestingly off to the surgery, where he was dealt with, with various potions and antibiotics and a District Nurse called daily for the next three weeks to dress his leg. So things were fairly serious.
I give you this background, as when spouse was better and went to see our lovely Doctor D, he moaned a bucketful about feeling the cold and blamed the Aspirin, she made him take. I can see her now, lovely Doctor D, looking incredulously at spouse. 'You have had influenza, surgery, a very serious blood infection and it IS winter time. Don't you think that might have something to do with why you are feeling the cold?' Spouse remained unimpressed and still blamed the Aspirin. Doctor D was last seen holding her head in her hands - again.
As you know, dear reader, we moved to this house six months ago and have registered at a new medical practice. Clean sheet, I thought, no more nonsense from him. Wrong. A blood test revealed spouse was a bit low in the potassium department and had instructions from the nurse to eat a banana a day for a fortnight and go back for another test. (You can imagine the comments in our house can't you? He is now known as 'monkey man'). But that's by the by. After a week of bananas he went to the chemist to collect a prescription and lo and behold, a bottle of potassium tablets awaited him there. A week's supply. Puzzled by this, spouse took himself off to the surgery and enquired from the Receptionists about the continued eating of the bananas, in the light of these tablets. Should he still carry on eating the bananas? God bless their hearts, they tried so hard to keep their faces straight in answer to his anxious question. If he wanted to eat bananas - if that made him happy - go on eating bananas.
I'm sure I don't need to tell you the nomenclature by which he now goes at the surgery. Correct - banana man. Everyone knows him. I only hope next time he attends the surgery they don't announce 'Banana Man for Doctor B' over the tannoy system. It could be another 'he's not with me' moment for me. Oh and by the way, dear reader, next time you visit your physician, be nice and don't try their patience to the limit - you don't want to make them ill.