Friday, August 12, 2011

Count Back from...99



Each time I watch an old episode of MASH on TV I just can't help thinking about Leigh Infirmary in Northern England back in the late forties and very early fifties. I remember clearly walking through the “plaster room” where patients were sitting on each side either getting a cast put on something , or removed from something. Particularly ominous were those giant stainless steel snippers used for removing old plaster casts from healed limbs. They looked a bit like a pair of oversized secretaires. Us kids called them nippers because they left a fresh red “nip” every inch and a half or so up your arm or leg. You could estimate how much longer before the medical assistant was going to be finished by counting them. Of course, this was long before the invention of the zippy bone-saw that used to cut through plaster casts like a hot knife through butter - without nips. Yes! In those days, the plaster room at the Infirmary was so busy it made MASH look like a Sunday school pic-nic on a lazy summer's day.



I was a fairly frequent visitor to the infirmary and although this might sound a little strange, I loved going there. Its not that I was clumsy. Its not that I had weak bones or anything like that. I think it was just because I was an active little boy growing up. For example, one of the more memorable times was when my best friend Geoff and I climbed to the top of a very large tree standing outside my house. While climbing down again, ever so carefully, he stepped on my fingers and I came crashing down to the pavement below – breaking my left arm. I was more upset about what my mother would say - than I was about breaking my arm.


She made a makeshift sling to immobilize it while she took me to Leigh Infirmary on the trolley-bus. My fracture was confirmed by X-ray. I was led to a separate private room where the surgeon explained that I would receive a little bit of chloroform so that I wouldn't feel anything while he re-aligned my bones. He placed a plaster-of-paris nose-cone over my face while he dripped a few drops of chloroform onto the outside edge of it. I shall always remember the pleasant odour of the chloroform. I was instructed to breathe deeply and count back from ninety-nine. Before long, I was floating around in la-la land oblivious to the rest of the world and feeling nothing at at all.


My temporary euphoria was abruptly and noisily interrupted by a stainless steel instrument tray crashing down to the ceramic tile floor. It startled me! I opened my eyes to see what was happening only to see a nurse helping my mother to find a chair. Apparently, she had been permitted to watch the doctor at work and she had fainted in the process. My poor mam. I wanted to help her but I was still “half out of it” so to speak.


It was only when I was leaving through the front doors of the Infirmary that I realized that the chloroform odour was by no means confined to the private room where I had my arm fixed. It was pervasive and rampant throughout the plaster room and the general admitting area as well. Notwithstanding, those were the standards of the times and I'll always remain thankful to Leigh Infirmary for patching me up time and time again after I'd had my little “mishaps”. On my way home, I created a list of friends who I was going to ask to draw a picture or sign their name on my brand new plaster cast.


Post Script: I want to be absolutely sure that I am not leaving you with a false impression of Leigh Infirmary. My essay is written through the eyes of a small boy more than sixty years ago. Standards of care at that facility were second to none at that time, as I am sure, they are today.

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