“Dr Braver has done it again,” cried the ODA.
“Surgery is an art that is far beyond the textbook. Always put your common sense hat on when you practise the art.”
“By Jove!” Dr Braver shouted, as he stood in front of the nurses’ station. “This must be the boundary between hell and heaven.”
The doctors looked at each other, wondering what was the problem. But no one was bold enough to make any comment. They just simply stood there, waiting for his lordship to give instructions.
“You know what it’s like at the boundary?” He asked.
The doctors looked again at each other and then down, their hearts pounding in apprehension.
“No, Dr Braver.” They answered simultaneously.
“Right. Imagine how it will be there. Trolleys taking the good, the bad and the ugly to the high place. You’re told you’re qualified to go to heaven. You shout or even cry for joy. Or you’re told oh, you’ve failed to meet the standards for heaven. And now you’re condemned to hell. You shout, hiss or cry. So, the boundary between heaven and hell is not peaceful. It must be very noisy and chaotic.”
No one seemed to understand his philosophical statement. Nevertheless, we laughed to make him feel happy so that the ward round could progress smoothly without any unmanageable event.
He smiled wryly and appeared to be having a good time. And he said, “You see, if you look at the event here right now, it is exactly what I have just told you. When patients get better they discharge them home or to the ordinary ward. And when they die they’re sent to the mortuary. In both cases the trolleys come with their wheels announcing the good or bad news. In both cases people shout and cry for joy or shout or cry for the loss of their relative or friend. Funny, en.”
The nurse arrived carrying a heap of case notes. She had been busy updating the patients’ records. And after greeting Dr Braver, she asked if he had had a good holiday. Dr Braver described how he had had a good time with his wife in Hamburg. They stayed in the best hotel and his wife was looking forward to going back there but he was going to take her to Florence next time. He even showed them the cuff links Mrs Braver bought for him from a British jewellery shop in Hamburg.
“So how many of these heaven and hell people are mine?” He asked the nurse.
The nurse counted the notes and cleared her throat. “Six in total. There were ten before your holiday. We are down to six now. Four have died.”
“So, which ones have you sent to hell?” Dr Braver asked.
“Sent to hell?” The nurse wondered.
“Yeah, I mean which of them have failed to make it?”
The nurse pulled out a black folder from the drawer and read out the following names:
“Frank Trommans, the sixty-six year old who had a burst abdomen after laparotomy for pseudo-obstruction.”
“Rebecca Andrews, the eighty-five year old lady who had oeasophageal perforation during gastroscopy.”
“Thomas Graves, the forty-two year old who had an anastomotic leakage after bowel resection for Crohn’s disease.”
“And Angelica Tinker, the young girl who bled after laparoscopic appendicectomy.”
“They were unfortunate, I was not around. I’m sure I could have done something to save their lives. Anyway, I can’t be expected to be here three sixty five days. I’ve got to go away sometimes and leave other doctors to take care of the patients. And if they cannot bloody look after them properly, that’s their luck.”