Medical Matters: If you visit any teaching hospital, you will see medical students in their white coats, fluttering in groups, like flocks of seagulls, around the wards, writes Pat Harrold
They alight on an interesting case with squawks of pleasure, visibly excited by an interesting heart or liver.
Medical students are bright, keen and brimming with enthusiasm. In these enlightened times they meet patients early on, and are trained in research methods, communications and presentation skills, which enable them to make the most of their talents.
When I was a student things were different. First we had the pre-clinical years, which were a way of marking time to see if we would go completely off the rails. I will never forget the utter boredom of studying organic chemistry, in which the carbon-carbon bonds got up to things that would make a rap-singer blush. The undoubted highlight of that period was when two of my classmates introduced a pig into the anatomy department reading room. As an exercise, it was about as relevant to medicine as the chemistry, and just as organic.
When we got to the wards, we were treated like a rabble who had blundered into the hospital by chance, and who had to be forcibly educated by the long-suffering consultants. While many of these consultants were undoubtedly decent, the more memorable were those with the appearance of dyspeptic herons and the patience of celebrity chefs. The idea was that we would be "attached" to a consultant's team for a number of weeks. The word "attachment" has a Jane Austen quality, implying fond longings. For most of us, the fond longings were for pubs downtown, where we could repair our shattered nerves. You see, attachments had strict rules that you disobeyed at your peril.
First, you had to wear the keen expression of a young fox terrier at all times. God help you if you appeared bored as the boss expounded on his pet subject. Then you had to become a connoisseur of each consultant's moods and foibles. One charmer, for instance, was scary if he wore a blue suit and downright terrifying if he wore a black one. As he appeared to have only the two, he was always treated with a certain amount of caution.
Another rule was always to carry a chart. With a chart in your hand you always looked busy; even if all it contained was a crossword puzzle. With care, the same chart could do you for your entire undergraduate career.
It was always best to get into an attachment early. For the first two days you would hang about until everyone was sick of the sight of you, and get a reputation for being keen. After that you could scale down your input over time and take the last fortnight off altogether. The poor slob who would show up halfway through, knowing nothing of the idiosyncrasies of the team, would have to work far harder.
So around the wards we plodded: seniors at the front, juniors at the back. Nobody ever, ever sat down. One consultant would disappear without warning, leaving us standing in the corridor for 20 minutes or so, and then emerge smelling agreeably of coffee and nicotine, but only slightly less bad tempered.
I remember a third med presenting the team with three patients in a row as "Mr Evans", until it dawned on him that "Nesbitt Evans" was written on the head of every bed in the hospital, because it was the manufacturer's name.
Some mistakes were beyond salvage. For instance, my classmate who loudly announced to us: "The old b*****d's late again", unaware that the old b*****d was standing behind him.
Youth being what it is, considerable effort was invested in disguising hangovers with mouthwash, chewing gum and paracetamol. One fourth med had faith in a whiff of oxygen as a restorative, and I will never forget a "grand round" crashing to a halt as the curtains were dramatically pulled from around a hospital bed to reveal him lying on the bed and sucking on the oxygen mask like something from a horror film.
One dear friend of mine was asked to examine a patient's central nervous system (or CNS). He turned to the patient and asked "How's your CNS?" In fact, all of our nervous systems took a bit of a hiding back then. I suppose it was all intended to toughen us up, and while some students thrived in the intimidating atmosphere, others - though just as able - wilted.
Time moves on. My friends from those far-off days are now the consultants, and quite a few of those old teaching doctors are now my friends. Nobody is intimidated any more, and pigs are safe from third-level education.
• Pat Harrold is a GP with a practice in Co Tipperary.
• Muiris Houston is on leave.