Today has been one of the busiest baby clinics for many months: 11 babies and 4 "extras" (emergency adult patients tacked on to the end) My practice manager's view: it is busy today because next week and the one after mums will be fully occupied in making arrangements for Christmas. Good luck to them.
As a doctor, I absolutely hate this time of year. Everyone seems to wind themselves up into a state of unbearable tension (possibly myself included), men and women alike, and that's nothing compared to what happens afterwards, when we get a rush of misery-laden folk streaming in, suffering from what I call "post Christmas blues". All that stress, then what happens? The kids have broken their toys even before lunch is served. Then, much worse, dad, cooped up in the house for much longer than he is used to, finally snaps under the strain and goes down the pub and gets well pissed, only to return home and get a furious row from her indoors who's had to look after the kids, parents AND inlaws while he's been out indulging himself. It is the women I feel most sorry for: they do 90% of the work for 10% of the recognition; no wonder they come in in a highly dejected state in the first week of the new year. Poor dabs...
Tonight looks like being quite exciting: my wife departs for the West Bank again, and the flight is at an extremely inconvenient 5 o'clock in the morning. I have agreed to take her to the airport (at 2.30 am). It's some 30 miles distant- cheaper than a taxi but still a bloody drag. Plus I'll have to pick her her up at a similarly ungodly hour next week. But what the hey, she'd do the same for me. She's already bought in a tranche of easy-to-prepare meals to last me over the interim. She really is a sweetie...
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