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No GPs around anymore
published: Saturday | November 10, 2007
Hartley Neita
The first physician I recall was a Dr. Johnson in May Pen, Clarendon.
He was the family doctor as he was for many of the families in the May Pen/Four Paths//Cross/York Pen/ Parnassus community. He was also the school doctor for the elementary schools in May Pen and Four Paths.
He was a pleasant man. His eyes bubbled behind his glasses when he stuck us with an injection needle.
He visited our school once each year to inoculate the children against smallpox. He scratched our arms with a needle hoping that one would catch when he made his follow-up visit the following week.
Night visits
Children become sick at nights; never during the days. Night after night, we heard his car driving through our various districts on his way to the families of sick children suffering from malaria, colds and coughs, chickenpox, measles, whooping cough and other illnesses.
It was obvious to us that he did not sleep, yet when we visited his surgery the following day, he was cheerful and sprightly.
Two friends became my family doctors during my marital years. There were two, just in case I could not find one.
Like Dr. Johnson, they were family, not just family physicians. They became to us the now dying breed of general practitioners (GPs).
These GPs had large practices. They made their house visits - apart from nights - early in the mornings. They arrived at their offices at 10.00 a.m., Mondays to Saturdays. They saw patients all day, working through lunchtime, munching crackers and cups of tea.
They did not have computers. Their tools were a stethoscope, a syringe to take a thimbleful of blood which was examined by their nurse or technician.
Right diagnoses
They identified your problem by looking under the lids of your eyes, by tapping your chest and back and listening to the echoes through their stethoscopes, pressing various spots on your belly, and peering down your throat. And their diagnoses were invariably right.
They gave you a couple samples of tablets distributed by medical houses, enough to help you until you reached a pharmacist.
The early GPs also kept a stock of half-pint bottles of green, pink and blue liquids in their surgeries. They had labels with instructions to "shake the mixture well" and to take one tablespoon three times daily after meals. It had a bitter, stainy taste.
GPs always carried a medical bag. Inside, they had rolls of bandages, tablets for pain, cough mixtures, splints, tweezers, needles and sutures and other medical aids.
Sadly, they have become less and less. They have been replaced by consultants with odd sounding titles. The more unique they are, the more expensive are their bills.
Their offices are designer laid-out with computers and other electronic gadgets. And they can provide you with details about every organ in your body.
They do not look under the lids of your eyes, tap your knees to test your reflexes, sound your back and chest with a stethoscope, or throw a pencil spotlight at the back of your throat.
Yet, I still miss my GPs. Thank God, one is still with us, still reading my pulse and testing my blood pressure with a rubber bulb which has seen the best and the worst of times.
published: Saturday | November 10, 2007
Hartley Neita
The first physician I recall was a Dr. Johnson in May Pen, Clarendon.
He was the family doctor as he was for many of the families in the May Pen/Four Paths//Cross/York Pen/ Parnassus community. He was also the school doctor for the elementary schools in May Pen and Four Paths.
He was a pleasant man. His eyes bubbled behind his glasses when he stuck us with an injection needle.
He visited our school once each year to inoculate the children against smallpox. He scratched our arms with a needle hoping that one would catch when he made his follow-up visit the following week.
Night visits
Children become sick at nights; never during the days. Night after night, we heard his car driving through our various districts on his way to the families of sick children suffering from malaria, colds and coughs, chickenpox, measles, whooping cough and other illnesses.
It was obvious to us that he did not sleep, yet when we visited his surgery the following day, he was cheerful and sprightly.
Two friends became my family doctors during my marital years. There were two, just in case I could not find one.
Like Dr. Johnson, they were family, not just family physicians. They became to us the now dying breed of general practitioners (GPs).
These GPs had large practices. They made their house visits - apart from nights - early in the mornings. They arrived at their offices at 10.00 a.m., Mondays to Saturdays. They saw patients all day, working through lunchtime, munching crackers and cups of tea.
They did not have computers. Their tools were a stethoscope, a syringe to take a thimbleful of blood which was examined by their nurse or technician.
Right diagnoses
They identified your problem by looking under the lids of your eyes, by tapping your chest and back and listening to the echoes through their stethoscopes, pressing various spots on your belly, and peering down your throat. And their diagnoses were invariably right.
They gave you a couple samples of tablets distributed by medical houses, enough to help you until you reached a pharmacist.
The early GPs also kept a stock of half-pint bottles of green, pink and blue liquids in their surgeries. They had labels with instructions to "shake the mixture well" and to take one tablespoon three times daily after meals. It had a bitter, stainy taste.
GPs always carried a medical bag. Inside, they had rolls of bandages, tablets for pain, cough mixtures, splints, tweezers, needles and sutures and other medical aids.
Sadly, they have become less and less. They have been replaced by consultants with odd sounding titles. The more unique they are, the more expensive are their bills.
Their offices are designer laid-out with computers and other electronic gadgets. And they can provide you with details about every organ in your body.
They do not look under the lids of your eyes, tap your knees to test your reflexes, sound your back and chest with a stethoscope, or throw a pencil spotlight at the back of your throat.
Yet, I still miss my GPs. Thank God, one is still with us, still reading my pulse and testing my blood pressure with a rubber bulb which has seen the best and the worst of times.
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