Many years ago, when I was a GP trainer, I went on a visit to an older lady. She was recently bereaved, arthritic, not far from the end of life herself. In those days we did more chronic visits, so that the content of the visit was as much personal as medical. With me I had my current registrar. She was bright, enthusiastic, knowledgeable. As we left, the lady asked me to change a light bulb in the kitchen; her hands were not up to it. I changed the light bulb; it was the work of moments.
As we got back into the car I saw a look of thunder on my registrar’s face. She had not trained for 7 years in order to change light bulbs, she told me. If she’d wanted to change light bulbs she could have trained as an electrician, or even — yes, she would come out with it — as a nurse or an occupational therapist. I kept my peace; turned to other matters. Middle-aged now, probably a mother, still, I hope, a GP, these days she probably changes light bulbs for patients without even noticing that she’s doing it. But what I could have said then, what I bit back because it would not have helped at that moment, was the following:
‘You trained for 7 years to acquire more; to acquire more skills, to acquire the status and respect due to a doctor. You did not train for 7 years to become less; you did not train for 7 years to become less human.’
- © British Journal of General Practice 2016