So, I'm sick?
Monday, October 26, 2009
When you meet a patient in hospital, they know they're sick. It's usually bleedingly obvious by the surroundings, the garb, the charts, you know, all that paraphenalia. Even in Emergency, people go there because they think they're sick; finding out that they are sick is not usually a surprise. At the General Practice, people often have no idea.
He comes because his wife told them to, or because his boss is sick of that hacking cough.
I sit quietly in the far corner, watching on. Mentally, I tick off the constitutional symptoms, and inspect the patient. I can tell this fella is sick, if not dying. The diagnosis is as obvious as a red light.
The GP's words suddenly dawn on him; "So, you think I've got... cancer?" He's terrified. The patient feels like he's jaywalked in front of Craig Lowndes' Falcon.
It unfolds as sinister, slow-motion poetry. It's fifteen minutes that will change his life.
I sit quietly in the far corner, watching on. Mentally, I tick off the constitutional symptoms, and inspect the patient. I can tell this fella is sick, if not dying. The diagnosis is as obvious as a red light.
The GP's words suddenly dawn on him; "So, you think I've got... cancer?" He's terrified. The patient feels like he's jaywalked in front of Craig Lowndes' Falcon.
It unfolds as sinister, slow-motion poetry. It's fifteen minutes that will change his life.
