All-weather doctor
“I missed my last appointment, Dr Ken. The rain was terrible that day.” I wasn't sure if April Schauerz was simply declaring these two statements as fact or offering some form of cryptic apology. I am no longer irritated, rather amused, when the merest hint of precipitation seems to have miraculous healing properties or suddenly nullifies the need for medical attention. Of course, if old Mrs Forsten-Gale is likely to be blown down the street like tumbleweed and is genuinely in need, I'll make every effort to visit.
Despite what we might claim, I think we rather enjoy the unpredictability of the elements. Comments such as: “Foul weather we're having” or “Getting colder” are often ice-breakers to conversation or used as simple pleasantries. In terms of deeper substance and sincerity though, they are almost as light as nimbostratus cloud formations. One rather introverted patient Mr Rockall Malin, given half a chance, would relay to me the unabridged shipping forecast for the next twenty-four hours. As much as I enjoy the melodic, almost poetic, recital on the wireless, preceding the news, it is not my idea of fun at a dinner party.
I've known expatriates to move back to Scotland having found the predictably high temperatures in the Colonies “unbearably monotonous.” They discovered the greener grass to be scorched, or perhaps it was just a mirage all along. I confess to being an impromptu amateur forecaster when out strolling. As a local GP and well-kent (and weathered) face, an innocent “How are you?” may be taken as more than a rhetorical question and I am still standing, listening to the Storr-McLeods detailing their every ailment, twenty minutes later. It may not be just the dogs straining at the leash to get away. If I left my Sou'wester hanging next to the barometer in the porch, because the needle was stuck at “Fair”, I will indeed have a fair excuse to leave Mrs Raine Storr-McLeod to dry up mid sentence and consult me, more appropriately, on Monday morning. She might feel a little under the weather but so might I, literally.
During winter months I have found myself helping local farmers dig sheep out from snow drifts before trudging my way to surgery in galloshes or hitching a lift on a tractor.
Surgeries in the summer months are often quieter. There are several reasons for this, including patients being away on vacation. Visitors to the town, other than elderly ladies tumbling out of coaches or forgetting their medication, rarely seem to need our medical assistance . People generally feel better and feel better about themselves when the sun is shining. Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is of course rather appropriately named and studies consistently show consultation rates for depression are greater in winter months then in summer ones.
Someone once said that there is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong type of clothing. Assuming this was not a simple advertising slogan for protective outdoor gear, therein lies some wisdom. Cancelled beach or golf trips due to inclement conditions are undoubtedly disappointing, ruined harvests can be catastrophic but in some ways weather is just weather. I mentioned summer and winter months but am increasingly convinced by the notion that the climate is changing, driven by our seemingly insatiable need for fossil fuels. I would postulate that the words “unseasonal” and “unseasonable” will disappear from dictionaries as the seasons become less distinct and we come to accept and expect aberrant conditions. (“Unseasoned” is likely to remain in use as I suspect condiments will always be necessary for more discerning palates!) So, Miss Schauerz, a bit of drizzle kept you away did it? Far be it from me to criticise your fair-weather affectations, but come rain or shine; hail or high water; pestilence, famine or flood I'll be here as usual, healing the sick and listening to tales of woe (during extended office hours anyway!)