Friday, March 05, 2010



                                           Two kids inside a car

                                                     for the right

                                          to spin a useless wheel.


 (c) Richard Lawson
circa 1980

The above is a not very good short poem. It and is not intended to convey any literal truth. It was something I saw, which reminded me at the time that it often seems that sometimes everything seems a bit pointless. I had an interesting day today doing a locum. I notice that Dr Crippen writes about his cases. I would like to, but would it not breach confidentiality?  I suppose it is OK to write in generalities, of how a sore throat turns out to be neck muscle tension due to multiple stresses, death, parenthood, financial worries, relationship problems - a whole life of sorrow and struggle unfolded in 10 (oh all right then 20) minutes.  At the end the patient left smiling. Another, 18 months of CITALOPRAM antidepressant represented another struggle with death. Told him the  story of a mother bereaved of her son, who asked the Buddha to restore him to life. "Obtain a cup of milk from a house where death has never come. Give him that, and he will recover". After asking fruitlessly at many houses, she came to accept her bereavement. The patient left smiling. It did me good to do medicine. Keeps mind occupied. When unoccupied, mind returns to its cracked record: "You Have Made a Mistake, You Have Made a Mistake". 

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