Unexciting

Had a reasonably enjoyable evening yesterday. The rugby itself was rather uninspiring, apart from the odd flash of brilliance – most notably the try from the Springboks against the run of play in the very last minute of the game. I got more entertainment from the row of blokes behind us. We were told the game was officially a sell out towards the end of the game, with 35,000 people attending. “That’s the population of the entire Upper Hutt!” “Yes it is! And Thank God they aren’t here!” “Can you imagine the smell?!” (Poor old Upper Huttians – they are rather the butt of jokes.)

Behind them was a rather excitable South African woman, who was very vociferous in her support. We called her The Screecher.

It was also a pleasure to meet amongst our group of friends, a young woman who is the partner of a friend’s son. He introduced me to her as “the one who writes the blog” which was very gratifying – although her blank look in response wasn’t.

I knew both the radiologist and the orthopaedic surgeon who were loitering in the wings (or the stands, anyway) ready and waiting to deal with any rugby related emergencies that may arise. The radiologist was the very kind young man who injected my shoulder to great effect some months ago, and the surgeon has been making my life a misery here all weekend with various bony misadventures – all with the patients’ best interests at heart, obviously. (In fact, I’ve just embarrassed myself terribly with that orthopod. When I told him the nursing staff wanted just a few more minutes to have their dinners, he muttered that he wasn’t going to have his dinner for another couple of hours, because of all the work he had to do. So I said, well, I can buy you dinner if you like? Meaning, I could bring him back something from the hospital cafeteria. He blushed and dissembled and appeared most discomfited, which confused me terribly. It wasn’t until later I figured out he thought I was asking him out on a date!)

When one of the All Blacks was walked off the park, clutching his arm, I thought there might be some work for me the next day. It looked like he’d broken his forearm, which just goes to show I shouldn’t give up my day job, because it was a dislocated shoulder. We all get excited at the prospect of looking after famous people, which for me is leavened by a very real fear of cocking up in a public way.  I haven’t looked after many VIPs, most have been lovely, but I remember one ex PM (National, naturally) who was a bit of a prat. No more details for fear of being sued, but I do remember his surgeon telling me the patient had boasted about his numerous free rugby World Cup tickets, without offering the surgeon any. Nothing like the Auckland neurosurgeon who saved a Rolling Stones life, and then had his life transformed. Mind you, it did lead to the end of the surgeon’s marriage, but, hey – surgeon’s marriages do tend to have a short shelf life, sadly. It probably just sped things up by six months or so. He has a new (younger) wife and baby now, so no harm done. Which reminds me: what’s the difference between an orthopaedic surgeon’s first and second wives? The first wife has real orgasms and fake jewellery…

The first sportsman I looked after was as a very junior doctor. I was admitting a member of the touring English cricket team who had fractured his kneecap horribly. My job was to take his history. I remember asking him what work he did. He looked at me like I was a moron, which I was, really. Can’t blame him for being upset. The nurses did sneer at him a bit for needing so much pain relief, but his whole career was in tatters so it would have hit him really hard. That was my practical introduction to a holistic approach to medicine. I never did hear anything about him again after that – obviously he was right to be worried.