I've been smiling this morning, while outside clipping my hedge, thinking about how I was chatting yesterday with one of the GP's I used to work with in the lovely Cottage Hospital we used to have in our small, very rural, local town.
It was a wonderful time in my profressional life, we had just 11 beds and a minor injury unit, which kept us busy, anything from the local fishmonger cutting his hand, kids coming off ponies, farmers getting kicked by cows and some nasty accidents. It was all overseen by the doctors, we worked closely together and they were very caring and skilled. But boy, did we have some laughs along the way!
This all before anyone had heard of an Out of Hours Service, they did their own, and the people of the remote area we serviced didn't abuse the system, they highly valued the doctors and the service they gave to the locality, and held them in high esteem. There were few boxes to tick in those days. I can honestly say I loved that job, it never felt like going to work. I consider myself so lucky to have been there at that time.
While I was happy in work, personally I was not, and when I split very unhappily with my children's father, this GP and one other were so kind to me, literally going out of their way to see that I was OK. When they retired the local paper wrote an article under the headline "end of an era as GP's bid farewell". It was indeed the end of an era, but they live on in the photo I cut out and still have on my kitchen wall! They are, as I told him, a little yellow round the edges, but they will always be there.
