Coronavirus diary, Wednesday 6 August

GPs - general practitioner doctors - have cared for Britain's health for a long time.

But they have never seen such an upheaval as that brought about by this pandemic. And it affects every one of us.

Going back over the years, qualified doctors working in the community were GPs but it did not become a trained, specialist role until the 1950s. 

We can all recall our GPs - our family doctors.

My first memory of ours is of the care received by my father, Frank over many years. 

Dad was a crane driver, working at a small wharf on the river Thames in Wandsworth, at first travelling every day from our home in West Ham until we moved to Wandsworth to be nearer his work. It was a hard and dangerous job, especially during world war two. He was approaching 50 and not very fit, which meant regular calls to our doctor.

Worse, he almost died when his steam driven crane toppled over, trapping him. Seriously injured, he spent weeks at home, with the doctor at first calling every few days. That doctor became a friend, sitting down beside Dad's bed, helping him fill out his weekly football pool coupon.

My own experience with GPs came later in life. 

My first was a happy-go-lucky friend from school who had a surgery near my home and who never seemed to me to be serious enough to be a doctor.

Remembering Doctor Don

Then, for many years, my cousin Don Dymond, two days younger than I, who was also at Cardiff High School with me, became our family doctor. He was the ideal doctor with a perfect, reassuring 'bedside  manner'. His practice was in Cyncoed Road, near where I live in Sunrise now.

All his patients loved him, especially children, as apart from his skill as a doctor, Don was an accomplished magician. On his calls and in hospitals he entertained young patients with his tricks and jokes. 

Life was even harder for doctors years ago, with long hours, home visits every day after surgeries, and 24 hours on call.

The most dramatic call-out in my home was on Christmas Day 1979. I was awoken by my wife Rosemary who could not find her mother who was staying with us. We could not see her in her room or anywhere in the house until we happened to look under the bed. There she was, huddled up, hidden.

Dr Lindsey, from my cousin's practice, came within minutes. My my mother-in-law was unconscious and could not be moved. Dr Lindsey decided not to send her hospital but to leave her to recover consciousness. We watched over her all day, not going to Christmas dinner at my daughter's in-laws.

 

After an anxious day and night, the next day, fearing the worst, we went into her room to find her awake, sitting up, asking what day it was. When we told her it was Boxing Day she complained bitterly about missing Christmas Day...

When we lived in Penarth our young family doctor, a keen yachtsman with a young family, died suddenly. Staff and patients cried.

Here at Sunrise, a local health centre provides the GPs who, before coronavirus, came every week. Nothing could be easier. No need to make an appointment.

The 'surgery' is a room a few yards from my door. No need to sit by the phone at 7.30am for up to half an hour trying to book an appointment, my last experience in Penarth.