Life. And Death

This morning a patient making his first visit to our clinic collapsed in the main reception area of our Unit with a cardiac arrest. Despite the best efforts of our cardiac crash team, unfortunately they couldn't save him.

I walked through reception while this was happening (but at the other end of the reception hall). They were trying to resuscitate him, and someone had put some screens round on one side to screen them from prying eyes. So I walked into the reception hall, saw what was happening and continued on my way. I did not stand and stare, nor did I take in any details other than the fact that they were trying to resuscitate someone - after all, it was none of my business, there was nothing I could do to help and there were still plenty of other people gawping at what was happening.

I am upset at the amount of people in the reception area who stopped to stand and watch ... staring, gawping, satisfying their morbid curiosity. And shortly afterwards, when it was all over, the number of people walking over the spot where they'd resuscitated him. Perhaps it's me, but my sadness stems from the fact that someone's life ended on that spot just minutes earlier, but here people are just carrying on as though nothing had happened. If it wasn't bad enough that the poor man suffered the indignity of nosey onlookers during his final moments, the world just carried on too. I don't know, I think I sort of feel that there should be some recognition. Yes, none of us knew him, but even so.

It kind of coloured my whole day grey.

This afternoon, however, bought a little sunshine with it. A little project of mine has been to see if I can compile a list of the Middlemore Lecturers. Richard Middlemore was a prominent ophthalmologist back in the late 1800s, who bestowed an annual lectureship on Birmingham. It seemed that no-one had kept records of the Lecturers (the first lecture was in 1889), but my investigations had produced about a third of the names (there are 120 in all). Happily, a typed list of the Lecturers (and lecture titles) from 1889 to 1967 was discovered today, which has filled in a lot of the gaps. These Lecturers were eminent ophthalmologists of their day, and I think that they should be honored in some way, and not forgotten about. I firmly believe that everyone should leave their mark on the earth - on their families and friends at least. I think it would cool to ensure that they are remembered in some way at work.

Finally, my day ended with a smile. I put Ethan to bed just after 7.00 pm, and he sat there on the bed and cried. 'I want to snuggle all my teddies, but there are just too many. I just can't cope with this any more' he sobbed 'I just can't do it'. It was so difficult for me to keep a straight face, bless him. I'm not surprised he couldn't snuggle them all - there must be 20 teddies at least in that bed with him, and he wouldn't let me remove a single one. Just goes to show, even at 6 1/2, my independent little man still loves his teddies. Love him so much!

Have spent the evening with Sean, mounting stamps for a big order we had. I didn't get to bed until nearly 1.30 am last night, so I'm extra tired tonight. Rather than faff about with my computer for another hour, I am shutting it down now and going to sleep! Ciao!