I have just written a memoir of my involvement in the IDF action at Nuqeib 46 years ago - a sort of in-vivo obituary. It has been accepted by Judy's synagogue magazine for their issue just before Indepedence Day. So in keeping best journalistic tradition, I'll keep it embargoed until then. On Google, there are several entries about Nuqeib, written by rabid Moslem fanatics in a very long list of 'Jewish atrocities' since 'Zionists' invaded their 'God-given' property, Falastin.
I had submitted my article for advice to the Israel Embassy press office. They assured me that they do not censor such items, provided they do not contain classified information. Well, after 46 years and all the military actions since, we agreed that it was not a classified secret any longer.
But I had never known the actual number of our casualties. Could the press office help? - I was told that this would be very complicated, and might not be revealed.
When I planned my article recently, I had tried another avenue. I wrote to Dr Eliahu Gillon who, as IDF Chief Medical Officer at the time, had been my immediate superior. We had a mutual friend and I knew that Dr Gillon was alive and well. Alas, he never replied. Possibly, the records of the medical corps were not easily accessible to him. And people do not like to give negative replies. He owed me no favours and, in Israel, writing letters is often regarded as a chore. They like phoning...
Being fond of devious actions, I finally devised a cunning plan. I phoned a relative in Israel. She is a nurse and was still on the staff at the hospital, to which all the casualties from the Nuqeib action had been admitted on that single night.
She is a very friendly and experienced person, and she was obviously able to get the archive staff of the hospital to do some quite unusual voluntary work for her. They found the admission records for that date - and I was given the missing facts for my article.
Watch this space!
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
07.Fading Memories of dead colleagues
After I had been shortlisted for the consultant post at Barnet General Hospital, my first visit had two purposes: to get an idea of the travelling distance from Woodford, and to meet some future colleagues. It would have been unwise not to show courteous interest. It also showed them, that this 'ex-Israeli' spoke fluent English, wore a suit, and behaved acceptably. Much later I heard, that at Barnet the news of my appointment was circulated as 'The Israeli got it'. -And I do not even have an accent!
The senior physician Dr Oliver Garrod showed me round. His one remark that I remember was, that at Barnet all patients washed before they attended. Presumably he assumed that at Westminster hospital, where I was working, the slum dwellers and Salvation Army beggars were all filthy. He introduced me to Ken Stone, the orthopaedic surgeon. But not to his colleague Dr Royston, the other consultant physician. I soon found out that they loathed each other. Soon after I started work, I introduced myself to Dr Royston. He was clearly pleased that I had shown the courtesy to meet him.
On the evening before the meeting of the appointment committee, a sherry party was held at the hospital. All interested consultant have copies of the CVs of all four shortlisted candidates and can ask questions informally. Then the candidates leave, and the consultants decide on the one that their representative will support at the appointment committee. I remember being asked how importantly I regarded a physiotherapy pool. There wasn't one at any of the hospitals where I had trained, and I had heard that at the new Royal free the pool leaked into the floor below. I replied that upgrading the antiquated physiotherapy department was of greater priority. But it was never done during my tenure...
Much later I heard a vague roumour, that shortly before, a large donation had been received specifically to create a physiotherapy pool. I could never obtain details but some of my colleagues obviously used that money for other purposes.
My predecessor Dr Talbot had been a consultant in physical medicine - dealing non-surgically with skeletal problems. He knew little about rheumatoid arthritis or its medication - these patients were referred to, and managed by, the general physicians. Dr Talbot just ordered physiotherapy and gave local injections. When I was shown round, there was a bottle of smelling salts, used for those who fainted during the large volume injections that he gave. I changed all that.
At Finchley memorial hospital, Dr Talbot's one-line clinical notes were written as instructions on the physiotherapy card. This entry was followed by a series of date stamps - indicating the patient's attendance for treatment. Then followed Dr Talbot's next entry: a variable number of 'v's followed by 'm.' and 'i.'. It was explained to me that this meant a variable number of 'very', up to 'very very very very', followed by 'much improved'.
I asked to write my clinical notes in the patients' medical record. For diagnosis, and for safety, I needed to see other clinical documentation. As expected, the medical records officer claimed that this could not be done. In that case, I said, I shall not see any patients from next week. The 'Israeli' got his way.
At Barnet I saw my patients in one of the cubicles of the physiotherapy department. I was told that the purpose-built outpatient department was fully committed for prior colleagues. Only years later, did I get 'squatters rights' when someone left.
The washbasin, used also by all the physiotherapists, was diagonally across the corridor - and it was busy. So I asked Bill Brewer, the hospital secretary, for a new washbasin in my clinic cubicle. He replied within days, that the plumbing and drainage only existed along the opposite wall.
So I sent Bill Brewer a draft letter, that I intended sending to all patients on my waiting list, for his advice. I explained that the distance to the washbasin and the occasional extra waiting there probably reduced by one or two the number of patients that I could see per session. Within a fortnight, I had my own washbasin built and connected.
The physiotherapy department had a single telephone line. It was in the office, further away than the washbasin was. But Bill Brewer explained that unfortunately all the lines of the hospital exchange were fully committed. So once again I showed Bill a draft letter to the Regional Hospital Board, asking for their help. To my delight, a telephone line for my clinic was found almost immediately.
Computers were becoming fashionable. Judith and I even attended evening classes to learn about them. At Barnet, sheets of self-adhesive identity labels were now prepared for attending patients. No longer did I have to write these details on request forms for up to 5 different investigations. It was bliss.
I checked and initialled all results of investigations. Occasionally the patient had to be recalled sooner unexpectedly to make sure, or for safety reasons. And although the identity labels had addresses and dates of birth, they had no phone numbers. So I visited the computer office - far posher than my cubicle. But they explained that there was no additional 'field' available for a phone number to be added. From my evening classes I knew that this was a lie.
The solution was simple. After each outpatients session, when I dictated letters, I put aside all medical folders where the result of an investigation was awaited. And when the result came, my secretary would put it in the notes and, if necessary, contact the patient - the phone number was in the folder, though not on the label. Medical records had extra work on patients, who also attended other departments, while I was 'hanging on' to the notes. Too bad.
A few months before I retired, out-patient appointments were due to be computerized. A man came to ask for my preferences. There were two problems. First, There was no back-up for the computer that was used. Once a month, the data were sent to 'the Region', he reassured me. I had visions of clerical staff scurrying round at the start of clinics when the computer was 'down'. And sure enough, I observed such episodes.
And second, there could only be clinics of either 'new patients', or 'follow-ups', and no flexibility of time length for individual patients. Whereas I always mixed 'new patients' and 'follow-ups', and I did read the GP letters to decide on expected duration of each interview as well as the urgency. There were two indications for early appointments: one was a GP description that suggested an early assessment. The other was a letter from one of 2 or 3 local GPs, whose clinical knowledge was clearly poor: they were unable to recognize potentially serious conditions. Their identity was well known also among my colleagues.
Once again, the solution to the computer scheduling of my clinic lists was simple. I refused the new programme, but took the appointment book into my clinics, found the appropriate slot for the next visit and filled it in both in the book and on the patient's appointment card. It took just a few seconds. My successor complained to me, that he had not been able to maintain my system. And occasionally chaos did indeed ensue, when the computer was 'down'. Receptionists and nurses had to wait until patients arrived for their appointment, before they could search for their notes.
The senior physician Dr Oliver Garrod showed me round. His one remark that I remember was, that at Barnet all patients washed before they attended. Presumably he assumed that at Westminster hospital, where I was working, the slum dwellers and Salvation Army beggars were all filthy. He introduced me to Ken Stone, the orthopaedic surgeon. But not to his colleague Dr Royston, the other consultant physician. I soon found out that they loathed each other. Soon after I started work, I introduced myself to Dr Royston. He was clearly pleased that I had shown the courtesy to meet him.
On the evening before the meeting of the appointment committee, a sherry party was held at the hospital. All interested consultant have copies of the CVs of all four shortlisted candidates and can ask questions informally. Then the candidates leave, and the consultants decide on the one that their representative will support at the appointment committee. I remember being asked how importantly I regarded a physiotherapy pool. There wasn't one at any of the hospitals where I had trained, and I had heard that at the new Royal free the pool leaked into the floor below. I replied that upgrading the antiquated physiotherapy department was of greater priority. But it was never done during my tenure...
Much later I heard a vague roumour, that shortly before, a large donation had been received specifically to create a physiotherapy pool. I could never obtain details but some of my colleagues obviously used that money for other purposes.
My predecessor Dr Talbot had been a consultant in physical medicine - dealing non-surgically with skeletal problems. He knew little about rheumatoid arthritis or its medication - these patients were referred to, and managed by, the general physicians. Dr Talbot just ordered physiotherapy and gave local injections. When I was shown round, there was a bottle of smelling salts, used for those who fainted during the large volume injections that he gave. I changed all that.
At Finchley memorial hospital, Dr Talbot's one-line clinical notes were written as instructions on the physiotherapy card. This entry was followed by a series of date stamps - indicating the patient's attendance for treatment. Then followed Dr Talbot's next entry: a variable number of 'v's followed by 'm.' and 'i.'. It was explained to me that this meant a variable number of 'very', up to 'very very very very', followed by 'much improved'.
I asked to write my clinical notes in the patients' medical record. For diagnosis, and for safety, I needed to see other clinical documentation. As expected, the medical records officer claimed that this could not be done. In that case, I said, I shall not see any patients from next week. The 'Israeli' got his way.
At Barnet I saw my patients in one of the cubicles of the physiotherapy department. I was told that the purpose-built outpatient department was fully committed for prior colleagues. Only years later, did I get 'squatters rights' when someone left.
The washbasin, used also by all the physiotherapists, was diagonally across the corridor - and it was busy. So I asked Bill Brewer, the hospital secretary, for a new washbasin in my clinic cubicle. He replied within days, that the plumbing and drainage only existed along the opposite wall.
So I sent Bill Brewer a draft letter, that I intended sending to all patients on my waiting list, for his advice. I explained that the distance to the washbasin and the occasional extra waiting there probably reduced by one or two the number of patients that I could see per session. Within a fortnight, I had my own washbasin built and connected.
The physiotherapy department had a single telephone line. It was in the office, further away than the washbasin was. But Bill Brewer explained that unfortunately all the lines of the hospital exchange were fully committed. So once again I showed Bill a draft letter to the Regional Hospital Board, asking for their help. To my delight, a telephone line for my clinic was found almost immediately.
Computers were becoming fashionable. Judith and I even attended evening classes to learn about them. At Barnet, sheets of self-adhesive identity labels were now prepared for attending patients. No longer did I have to write these details on request forms for up to 5 different investigations. It was bliss.
I checked and initialled all results of investigations. Occasionally the patient had to be recalled sooner unexpectedly to make sure, or for safety reasons. And although the identity labels had addresses and dates of birth, they had no phone numbers. So I visited the computer office - far posher than my cubicle. But they explained that there was no additional 'field' available for a phone number to be added. From my evening classes I knew that this was a lie.
The solution was simple. After each outpatients session, when I dictated letters, I put aside all medical folders where the result of an investigation was awaited. And when the result came, my secretary would put it in the notes and, if necessary, contact the patient - the phone number was in the folder, though not on the label. Medical records had extra work on patients, who also attended other departments, while I was 'hanging on' to the notes. Too bad.
A few months before I retired, out-patient appointments were due to be computerized. A man came to ask for my preferences. There were two problems. First, There was no back-up for the computer that was used. Once a month, the data were sent to 'the Region', he reassured me. I had visions of clerical staff scurrying round at the start of clinics when the computer was 'down'. And sure enough, I observed such episodes.
And second, there could only be clinics of either 'new patients', or 'follow-ups', and no flexibility of time length for individual patients. Whereas I always mixed 'new patients' and 'follow-ups', and I did read the GP letters to decide on expected duration of each interview as well as the urgency. There were two indications for early appointments: one was a GP description that suggested an early assessment. The other was a letter from one of 2 or 3 local GPs, whose clinical knowledge was clearly poor: they were unable to recognize potentially serious conditions. Their identity was well known also among my colleagues.
Once again, the solution to the computer scheduling of my clinic lists was simple. I refused the new programme, but took the appointment book into my clinics, found the appropriate slot for the next visit and filled it in both in the book and on the patient's appointment card. It took just a few seconds. My successor complained to me, that he had not been able to maintain my system. And occasionally chaos did indeed ensue, when the computer was 'down'. Receptionists and nurses had to wait until patients arrived for their appointment, before they could search for their notes.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
06.Happy Days
Ruth received the exam results for the term at Nottingham University. She is in first place overall!!
It helps when one studies seriosly and if it is an interesting subject: also, she had worked very hard.
She thought that she was 'lucky with her genes' - after all she is studying a biology-type topic.
So I reminded her, that we had an extremely clever milkman at that time.
Heather has been struggling to get used to her new up-graded flute. I sat in the shop with her (near Waterloo) for over an hour, while she tried half a dozen instruments, with the most expert and kind help of the vendor, until she made her choice.
She still had doubts, but 3 days ago she told us that she thought that she had finally 'turned the corner' and last Thursday she took the new instrument to her music group. They were quite impressed, how much better it sounded. She also managed some notes, which had been impossible on the old flute.
So now she will take the previous flute to that shop - for them to sell.
I had photographed 4 slide films - that's over 150 pictures. To my delight, virtually all were at the correct exposure, and now I'm mounting and labelling them. It's exacting work (see a previous blog).
I also found a German painter who portrayed a clear picture of thyrotoxic goiter. The model was his fiancee. So her rapid heartbeat was not entirely due to being in love... My slide talk on medical aspects of art is gaining cases.
I've got my new glasses for computer uses. Half the weight of the double-glazed pair.
For the approacing 60th anniversary of Israel, I offered Judith's synagogue magazine a reminiscence of my participation in the Nuqeib action. I'm keepin it under 'self-imposed embargo' until it appears in early May. By then I might know how to copy and paste into the blog.
It helps when one studies seriosly and if it is an interesting subject: also, she had worked very hard.
She thought that she was 'lucky with her genes' - after all she is studying a biology-type topic.
So I reminded her, that we had an extremely clever milkman at that time.
Heather has been struggling to get used to her new up-graded flute. I sat in the shop with her (near Waterloo) for over an hour, while she tried half a dozen instruments, with the most expert and kind help of the vendor, until she made her choice.
She still had doubts, but 3 days ago she told us that she thought that she had finally 'turned the corner' and last Thursday she took the new instrument to her music group. They were quite impressed, how much better it sounded. She also managed some notes, which had been impossible on the old flute.
So now she will take the previous flute to that shop - for them to sell.
I had photographed 4 slide films - that's over 150 pictures. To my delight, virtually all were at the correct exposure, and now I'm mounting and labelling them. It's exacting work (see a previous blog).
I also found a German painter who portrayed a clear picture of thyrotoxic goiter. The model was his fiancee. So her rapid heartbeat was not entirely due to being in love... My slide talk on medical aspects of art is gaining cases.
I've got my new glasses for computer uses. Half the weight of the double-glazed pair.
For the approacing 60th anniversary of Israel, I offered Judith's synagogue magazine a reminiscence of my participation in the Nuqeib action. I'm keepin it under 'self-imposed embargo' until it appears in early May. By then I might know how to copy and paste into the blog.
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