The ancient Brehon laws of Ireland were quite detailed in the specifications for hospital or place for the sick. They should be free from dirt and should have four doors - north, south, east and west, and there must be a stream of water running through the middle of the floor. Dogs, fools and female scolds must be kept away from the patient, lest he be worried!'
During the Middle Ages responsibility for the care of the sick rested with the religious orders. In the sixth century St Benedict propounded a rule that anyone arriving at a monastery was to be given food, shelter and care.
In 883 Charlemagne decreed there should be a hospital attached to each cathedral and monastery. This may explain why many of our present day major hospitals - Armagh, Derry, Dungannon, Downpatrick, Newry etc. - are located on or near the sites of ancient monastic settlements.
Bone-setting, bleeding and surgery was practised by the early monks until 1215, when Canon Law decreed that from then on 'no sub-deacon, deacon or priest should practise any art of medicine involving cutting or burning'.
A guild of Barber Surgeons was incorporated in Dublin in 1446, but about a century later Henry Vlll decreed that from then on barbers should confine themselves to minor operations such as blood letting and pulling teeth.
The dissolution of the monasteries in 1536 left the populace virtually without hospital serices. In areas where monastic infirmaries had been numerous, the loss was traumatic. One result was that the people had to turn to charms, folk medicine and holy wells. One of the most famous holy wells locally was at Maghenagaw (Derrymore).
There was another at Cranfield (Toome), and of course there were spa wells at Ballynahinch and other places. Within living memory one could have found a local 'cure' (charm or folk medicine) for virtually any ailment including' lip cancer, but excluding tuberculosis.
As well, every druggist had his own special bottles (prescriptions). All one needed was an empty bottle, maybe a shilling to pay for the medicine, and someone to give the druggist the symptoms. Johnston's pharmacy (later Dick Green's) was never idle. The medical service available was the dispensary doctor. To reach him (her) the patient or a relative or friend often had to make a long journey on foot - no bicycles, no telephones, and often no money, meant that a doctor was only contacted as a last resort.
One old man, near 100 years old, recalled for me how a doctor had to come from the Ha'penny Gate 'on a big wheel the size of a cartwheel' to attend his (the old man's) mother (the Penny Farthing bicycle presumably), circa 1900; his mother lived at Aghalee.
Workhouses for the destitute poor which were set up under the Poor Law Act of 1838 had (union) infirmaries incorporated.
later it became necessary to admit other patients, but legally they had to be classified as 'paupers' or 'poor'.
it wasn't until 1898 that Poor Law Guardians were permitted to convert Union Infirmaries into district hospitals.
he had earlier asked readers to write about what they do when they are happy and i, being the kaypohchee i am, decided to give my two cents.
i didn't think too much of it until a couple of days ago, when i received an email from the artist, saying that a comic he drew the very same month was actually based on my quote.
what saddens me now is that the last time i was happy enough to make food for my friends was eons ago. boy, do i miss cooking up that big breakfast and setting aside those slices of ham and cheese to make sandwiches. sigh.
it's been a rather depressing december and i've found it difficult to get into the spirit of christmas. the gifts i made weren't made entirely joyously, eventhough they did give me an excuse to break away from the dreariness and breath-held anticipation of every panda-eyed morning just to do something for others.
there's still some bacon in the freezer. let's see if my mood will lift just enough to get me out of bed by 530am to cook up a breakfast...not because i'm happy, but because i hope it'll make me happy.
each operating theater has, at minimum, an anaesthesiologist, a surgeon, his/her assistant, and a scrub nurse. however, in my hospital, there will usually be another medical officer, a house officer, a student nurse, a medical assistant/student medical assistant, plus minus 2 or 3 medical students. that comes up at least 10 people at any one time in an operating room.
at least. i personally have never been in a surgery where there were only 10 people present. the average number comes up to about 15.
if ideal conditions govern that less than 10 people should be there, who should leave? hierarchy states that the dispensable ones should go first, which means bye bye medical students.
is it any wonder then that when there was found to be a rising number of surgical site infections (which must have been confirmed through an audit or something...surely those figures aren't baseless), the fingers would immediately be pointed at us? is it any wonder then that the OT sisters, who rule the sterile floors, are displeased at our presence and want us to either take turns or just bugger off altogether?
so we slink off away from the OT, tails between our legs, and when our lecturers question our lack of initiative in finding out what goes on in surgeries, we timidly answer that the women in pink caps have informed us that we have contributed to our patients' suffering. who can argue with that?
but no. our lecturers want us to be there anyway. they scold us for being lazy/timid. some of them chatise the sisters for making us leave, therefore further straining the already strained relationship the university has with the hospital.
and there we are, medical students, soon-to-be doctors, caught in the middle of the crossfire - not learning anything and getting scolded for it, wanting to learn something and getting scolded for it too.
i feel terribly childish for ranting about this. after all, we're 20-somethings who should be mature enough to come to a compromise...and we have! we go to the OT as early as we can and inform our friends to come for the next surgery so we wouldn't anger the sisters but will still be able to observe some procedures. we take turns. we patiently endure whatever scoldings we receive. we act as mood rings, sensitive to the temperament of the women in pink caps and our lecturers too, sounding the alarm when necessary.
we do whatever we can to ease the situation. to make the math work out. to ease the tension between hospital and university staff. not more than 2 of us in any one room, but always someone there.
i felt terrible today. the first thing to greet my friend and i this morning as we entered the recovery room was the cloudy face of a pink-capped sister who spent some time reminding us of our contribution to wound contamination. she had perfectly valid points and we tried frantically to come up with a compromise so that we'd still be able to see anaesthesia being administered to patients. we told our friends that there were 3 of us here already and that the sisters aren't too happy this morning, so maybe we should take turns and they should come a little later in the morning.
who knew that our lecturer came and swept through the rooms, looking for us, and expressed her displeasure that only half of us were present this morning?
so everyone else came and as a few of us joined in to see how an emergency surgery is dealt with, we got a second dose of the surgical site infection talk, this time coupled with a hurt look that accompanied a short comment on how we complain to our lecturers about not being allowed into the OT.
my friends and i decided that enough was enough and we left once the patient's legs went numb and the surgeon made the first incision. we've done what we could. we've attended one-and-a-half surgeries from induction to recovery. we've seen our daily quota. no one should say we weren't considerate towards the patients, the sisters' feelings, that we didn't respect the workings of an operating theatre or that we didn't take our posting seriously.
Cette dame est belle et élégante avec son ombrelle, j'adore ! J'aime bien le changement de teintes et l'animation.