Turns out I needn't have worried. Over the weekend I was still having trouble with my sibilants, but already, and seemingly without any specific effort on my part, my clear enunciation has returned. I'm such a terrible wuss sometimes!
On Monday an unusual experience at work. A 50 year old man with asthma came in with dyspnoea, and on being told that it was not a chest infection but pure asthma, which I proposed to treat with a course of oral steroids, he immediately went into a severe panic attack from which he seemed about to collapse right there in front of me. I took him firmly by the hand and intoned softly:
"It's OK, it's not a life threatening situation, you're going to be fine. Just try to control your breathing, slow it down."
But it got worse. "You seem to breathing even faster now. Come on now, slow that breathing down. You can do it."
And very slowly he calmed down. GPs quite often see panic attacks in the surgery, but the sufferers are usually teenage girls. To see it in a mature and intelligent man is definitely a rarity.
LUMBERING FAT BASTARD DEPT
Last month I treated my brother to a drive of my Mazda MX5 roadster. As he got in, he plumped his 17 stone frame down heavily onto the seat. The following day I noticed that the seat heater on the driver's side had failed. Obviously I was not about to use it; presumably some instinct led me to check it. I went for my annual service today, and got my man to look it over. It was busted, and would need a replacement that would have to be shipped over from Japan. The cost? £406. And the cause? Was it indeed related to the massive rump scenario? Oh, definitely, I was told. Can I bring myself to tell him about this? I doubt it, though this is not the sort of thing one can forget quickly...
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