I have a good excuse for the hiatus in this blog. Firstly, my Dad went and died. Not a great surprise (he was 94 years old), but he was my loyalest fan. He thought this blog was great. Then I had a stroke, which sounds alarming, and for a while, it was. Mainly, “a stroke” […]
Swamp ‘81
By Catherine Robinson on 17th November 2022 in Brixton uprising, Criminal justice, Junior doctors’ dispute, Music, surgery, Uncategorised
As the spring of 1981 arrived, the end of my general surgery ordeal came into sight. My spirits lifted, because the second three months of my surgical house job was to be in orthopaedics, which I expected to be dull but civilised. Easter fell at the beginning of April, and it included Steve Hammond’s birthday. […]
Bounded in a nutshell
It was a General Medical Council requirement that I should do surgical on-call whether I liked it or not. My main duties were at St George’s Hospital, Tooting, looking after patients admitted for elective surgery. No emergency work meant no on-call, so a bizarre arrangement was contrived in order to satisfy the GMC. One night […]
A cut-and-shut affair
By Catherine Robinson on 26th October 2022 in Hospitals, Junior Doctors, Medical Values, surgery, Uncategorised
Lanesborough House, the historic St George’s building at Hyde Park Corner, closed suddenly in 1980 when its state of disrepair became a danger to the public. The new hospital was not yet finished, so the consultants had to temporarily occupy Victorian wards in Tooting that were awaiting demolition. I did my surgical house job in […]
Everything was changing
Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty-three (which was rather late for me) Between the end of the Chatterley ban And the Beatles’ first LP Philip Larkin. The Beatles first LP starts […]
Not in the prescription
I have a framed picture on my dining room wall that was left to me by my grandmother when she died. It was given to her for her 17th birthday by a friend when they were both training to be nurses during the First World War. My grandmother married before she qualified and, as a […]
The tyranny of the Bleep
I have no recollection of walking into the Mayday Hospital in Croydon on my first day of work as a qualified doctor. I do not think that it felt especially momentous. In fact, after such a long journey to that exact moment, I am sure it felt anticlimactic. In 1980, there was no organised induction […]
Graduation Day
The last year at medical school was marked by a gathering sense of dread as Finals approached. Although we had had innumerable tests over the years, these were just way marks. Qualification rested entirely on the results of a heavy schedule of written and viva voce exams taken in late May and early June, and […]
Turbulent priests
By Catherine Robinson on 8th April 2022 in Medical School, Medical Values, Professional Boundaries, Psychiatrists, Religion
In the 1950s and 60s, christenings of babies were important gatherings in the British summertime. They were one of those regular rituals that brought families together to drink warm German wine and to fall out with each other. Nearly everyone was christened, even if their parents had a lukewarm relationship with Christianity. I have only […]
Never work with children or animals
By Catherine Robinson on 29th March 2022 in 1970s, Children, Medical School, The winter of discontent
As soon as I finished my psychiatry attachment, my girlfriend and I got married. Obviously, Woolwich Town Hall first thing on a cold December morning would not be anyone’s idea of a nice day for a white wedding, but, like my grandfather’s funeral shortly before, we constructed a bespoke occasion that was congruent with the […]