I was struck by an article in the rightwing UK broadsheet The Telegraph recently. In a piece on medical matters, the writer stated: “Doctors recently attended a seminar in comedy at the Royal College of General Practitioners annual conference.” Apparently the purpose was to encourage doctors “to go off script”. In other words: Forget the po-faced diagnosis and instead tell a few gags and try for some laughs as you break bad news.
Like: “Well Mr Jones, I can confirm that you are indeed suffering from a very nasty form of a quite unspeakable disease that will definitely kill you sooner rather than later – but never mind – did you hear the one about the Englishman, the Scotsman and the Irishman?”
We in Malta normally have a very staid view of all matters medical and I really can’t imagine this technique catching on here. And I’m totally unable to see someone like my Aunt Rose going for the lighthearted medical approach. Aunty Rose’s side of the family take all matters of health – and lack of – terribly seriously. They have used the same dynastic line of family doctors for – to the best of my knowledge – four generations. Indeed, their current physician is the grandson of the guy who attended my grandparents.
For Aunty Rose, the mark of a good family doctor is whether or not he (never a she) is… serious. My aunt is the type who, at the first sign of a sniffle, will take to her bed, after first phoning the doc to arrange a home visit. The lady has ‘enjoyed’… in the full sense of the word… ill-health for as long as I’ve known her. She just loves to be unwell. She is now in her late 70s and actually as fit as a flea, but she much prefers to wallow in the misery of perceived infirmity – and her physician happily panders to her quirks.
The prospect of some merry medic in a clown costume, spreading sunshine and funnies to my aged relative, however alluring I might find it, would go down like the Hindenberg in aunty’s estimation.
In Malta I think we’d better keep the funnies well away from the sickroom
Of course, there are some occasions when humour and medicine might be made to mix. I’m thinking of children in particular here, where a few jokes or funny voices may well serve to make a visit to the polyclinic or consulting rooms more agreeable.
I well remember our family doctor – not the same one(s) that administered to Aunt Rose’s lot. Our doc was a big, lovely, cuddly bear of a man, with a natural easy manner which extended to the bedside. He was a great Juventus supporter and – as I also sided with this football team, we got on extremely well… even when Juve weren’t having such a great season.
Fortunately, I enjoyed pretty good health while growing up, so our doc’s visits were few and far between. But he never needed to bring a joke book along with his stethoscope, on home visits, he was just naturally funny.
My late mother-in-law was, by general agreement, a sour old bat… and that’s putting it mildly. So I would have loved some comedy doc to have told her a few mother-in-law jokes. She would have hated every one, but I would have loved them. Sadly she died as she had lived, a complete misery who liked nothing more than making everyone around her as desolate as she was.
The other day I read about a female doctor who is probably the nearest thing to a funster medic yet. She has a practice in the Welsh valleys (a depressing enough environment) and is renowned for her ability to both run a successful medical life, as well as having another existence as a stand-up comedienne. I don’t know what she’s like as a doctor but, from what I’ve seen on Live at the Apollo, she’s an absolute hoot as a comic.
In her routines she doesn’t shy away from some of the less savoury aspects of her day job. For instance, she tells a long, involved story centred around a leaky colostomy bag, which had me rolling about on the sofa.
On second thoughts, maybe not the sort of thing to elicit a guffaw from someone with a foreshortened colon. So no, forget it… in Malta I think we’d better keep the funnies well away from the sickroom.