“My family and I have high standards and are looking to register with the perfect doctor, Dr Moody. Who would you recommend?” So asked our potential new patient, Tyrone Best, without a trace of irony.
What, or who, is the perfect doctor, I wonder? I would suggest that he has an IQ of little short of 200. He never makes a mistake or misdiagnosis but would have the hypothetical humility to admit it if he ever did. The only apologising he ever finds himself doing is on behalf of colleagues for their shortcomings, but he is too gracious to attribute blame and will take criticism on behalf of others, concerned that they may lose face.
We make the assumption that he is indeed male. Unfortunately some people continue to mistake female doctors for nurses. Our doctor has a tremendous working relationship with members of that noble and caring profession and naturally engenders their ongoing considerable respect. It matters not that he is in fact male as he is fully in touch with his own femininity. His empathy and compassion for women and their problems often draws them to him in a way that even his female colleagues cannot emulate.
Children are immediately and invariably put at their ease by his disarming friendliness and ready juvenile manner. His gentle touch can calm the most obstreperous of howling children. His charm and conversational skills can turn the most taciturn of disenchanted youths into pleasant, articulate models of their generation.
He can defuse the tensest of situations and rumour has it the chief constable formally requested him to be the on-call hostage negotiator for the region.
His insight, intuition and diagnostic skills would make Sherlock Holmes appear a bumbling, myopic fool. He does not appear hurried and is never distracted or interrupted during your consultation. His warmth and pleasant smile never waver. He is never negatively influenced by busy surgeries or problematical patients, maintaining a healthy objectivity and interest. His state-of-the-art computer brings results and referral details instantly to hand. He doesn’t seem to even glance at it nor break eye contact, as you always have his full and undivided attention. His humour is legendary but always appropriate and never offensive. His razor sharp wit can cut through barriers in ways few other methods could. He is a Solomon. Any disagreements or differences of opinion quickly evaporate, as his argument is so persuasive and logical that you wonder how you could possibly have seen things in any other light. He is only indignant in the most righteous of ways and only when his patients have received less than exemplary service or treatment at the hands of others. He has an issue with our developing two-tier health service but will always get you seen by a specialist with the priority with which your case deserves. (He is of course a specialist himself in all regards but graciously defers to his hospital colleagues and their more publicly recognised skills.) When the situation demands, he will speak with a former fellow cricketing or rowing blue, calling in a favour. That this friend is now only the country’s finest hand surgeon and will see you in his rooms tomorrow is more than just fortuitous.
But what does this perfect doctor look like? He is about forty, not too green to suggest inexperience nor too white to arouse suspicion he may be passed it. He may be greying around the temples but this only reinforces how distinguished he looks. His hair always gives the impression it was cut yesterday and he is as expertly shaved as though he stops at a Turkish barber on his way to work each morning. His aftershave hints of days surfing and exotic forests, blended with a rich bouquet of Tuscan lavender. He has a confident, strong and almost stubborn jaw, as all heroes do. His eyes are a piercing blue and you feel he can almost read your very thoughts before you even assemble them. His spectacles seem unnecessary but reiterate he is, in fact, only human. His skin is without blemish and his teeth as straight as Lombardy poplars (without the gaps.) His athletic build and flat stomach lend enormous credibility to the healthy lifestyle advice he freely imparts and recommends. He is smartly dressed in a classic style with a sports jacket and flannels. He declines a sober suit, feeling there are better impressions to make than formality. His tie is always in a Windsor knot, a subtle clue perhaps to those who may not know of his military (possibly secret service) background. This training probably contributes to him being supremely efficient, tidy, fit, punctual and multilingual. His enthusiasm is infectious. He is always dependable, reliable, indefatigable, available and well…able.
His room is welcoming and climate controlled. The tank of tropical fish only adds to the serenity. His beautiful wife and children smile up at him from the ebony framed photograph on his desk. There is the perception of Mozart’s Third Horn Concerto or Berlioz’ The Shepherds’ Farewell but that may be just your imagination. There is a faint aroma of quality Kenya coffee, possibly received as a gift following his commended voluntary work in that former colonial country. He is a polymath. On his least well-lit wall he has certificates and awards geometrically arranged, as if evidence were needed, of his comprehensive skills and interests. His Olympic medals, like everything else, have no hint of dust on them. His charitable works know no bounds and photos of presentations from world leaders and captains of industry serve to remind that, as much as he has been a gain to medicine, he has been a loss in numerous other fields.
His shelves are neatly arranged with the latest journals and textbooks modestly concealing his own renowned publications. He is at the cutting edge of research for your condition and several others beside. You rather selfishly worry he will be absent from the practice as he (once again) has been short-listed for the Nobel awards ceremony next month in Oslo. (The substantial prize money naturally is ploughed into practice coffers.) As always he shuns publicity for fear that it may compromise the care of his patients.
Oh, I’m sorry Mr Best, did you infer it was I being described above? No, it is purely co-incidental that my name appears under the title of this article. Modesty and an ingrained sense of honesty forbid me from claiming ownership of more than one or two of these attributes. So, you’ll just have to make do with me. One can only try one’s best, Tyrone Best, and I am happy to say that I do.