Kenny had been working hard to pull on my heartstrings, but as soon as it seemed that I might not prescribe him what he wanted, his lip started to curl and his voice was on the rise: ‘But I came to see you ’cos I thought you were gonna help me.’ He scowled at me.
‘Come on, Kenny, we both know that there is no point in me prescribing new addictive drugs to take up the job of the old addictive drugs. You need a proper supervised detox as an inpatient.’
‘But I want to come off the crack today. There’s a wait for detox, so that’s why I need a little something now, just to get me off the really bad stuff.’
I really wanted to believe that Kenny was serious about giving up his habit for good, but I knew from painful previous experience that many addicts either misuse their prescription drugs or simply sell them to get enough money for the harder stuff.
‘I won’t do it, Kenny. The drug and alcohol team have a walk-in service that’s open this afternoon. You could go round there right now and see them.’
‘I can’t believe you are refusing to help me. If you don’t prescribe nothing for me I’ll be back to using crack tonight. I could be dead in a month. You’ll have to live with that on your conscience.’
‘You don’t have to go back to using crack, Kenny. That’s a decision that you still have control over. If you really want to change your life around you can—’
I didn’t manage to finish my last sentence as Kenny was already out the door and gone.
Lee was here for an army medical examination and looked very nervous. He was tall, but looked more like an oversized 15-year-old than an adult. The prospect of him becoming a soldier seemed ridiculous.
‘Are you gonna have to stick your finger up my arse?’ he stammered.
‘What? No, Lee. Why would I need to do that?’
‘’Cos my mates told me you ’ad to have that done before you could get in the army.’
‘They were winding you up, Lee. Although I can’t vouch for what they do to you at military training college.’
Lee broke out into a broad smile, clearly very relieved by the fact that my finger and his anus would be remaining unacquainted.
‘So you’re terrified of the prospect of having a rectal exam from a doctor, but not scared of being blown up by a Taliban bomb in Afghanistan?’
‘I’ll be all right, sir.’
‘I’m not your teacher, Lee; you don’t have to call me sir.’
‘Oh right, yeah, sorry, Doctor.’
It felt like child abuse agreeing to let this 18-year-old boy go to war. My job was just to fill in a form declaring any previous medical history that the army might want to know about. Nobody really cared about my opinion on the war and the effect it might have on this poor boy.
‘Lee, are you sure you want to join the army?’
‘Yes, sir, I want to serve my country,’ he said proudly.
‘But do you really know what could happen out there. Do you even know what they’re fighting about?’
‘It’s about 9/11 and what Osama bin Laden did and that … and my mum says that joining the army will keep me out of trouble.’
That seemed a fairly stark reflection of life in modern Britain. Lee’s mum clearly felt that going to Afghanistan would get him into less ‘trouble’ than letting him stay here and hang out on the local council estate.
I started scanning through his notes hoping to find some sort of ailment that might be picked up on by the army doctors who would review my report. A few childhood illnesses and some more recent weekend A&E visits were all that I could see. The previous month Lee had fractured his fifth metacarpal, a hand injury that is almost always caused by punching someone. The other injury four months earlier was a ‘periorbital haematoma’ (a black eye), again, most likely resulting from fighting.
Maybe Lee’s mum was right. Maybe the army would be the best thing for him. He is from a really rough part of town and he has minimal education, and no skills or qualifications, not to mention that there really aren’t many jobs going at the moment. His brother has been in a lot of trouble with the law and perhaps the army would stop Lee heading in the same direction.
‘You sure you don’t want me to say you’ve got flat feet or asthma or something? There must be something else you can do other than go into the army?’
‘No thanks, sir, I’ll be all right.’
I asked Lee to sign the form and with great concentration he wrote his name in a mixture of capital and small letters. His writing was that of a six-year-old and I could see why he didn’t feel able to go on to college.
Some doctors refuse to refer patients for abortions due to religious and moral objections. I could probably do the same for army medicals, but it would be a pointless gesture that would only put extra work onto the other doctors at the practice.
As I stamped the form, Lee beamed me a big smile.
‘You look really happy, Lee. You must be looking forward to joining up.’
‘What, oh yeah, I definitely am, Doctor, but mostly I’m just pleased you didn’t have to stick your finger up my arse.’
Tracey was in, yet again. I was also still receiving letters stating that she and her family were attending the emergency department too frequently, but I’d long since given up on trying to persuade Tracey not to visit so often. The latest hospital attendance was for ‘tummy aches’ in six-year-old Bradley and it was for that same reason that Tracey had brought him in to see me today.
‘They said up in A&E that they didn’t know what was wrong with him and to visit you instead,’ Tracey said.
Bradley was sitting sullenly in the chair rather than tearing around the room, which was out of character.
Once upon a time I had wanted to be a paediatrician and had spent a fair bit of time working on the children’s ward as a junior doctor. I could usually fathom out the cause of tummy pain in kids and I was confident that Bradley’s case would be no exception. I asked Bradley and his mum all about his symptoms. I asked about diarrhoea or constipation and if it hurt when he went for a wee. I asked if he was vomiting or had a fever and I made sure his glands weren’t up. I spent some time prodding his tummy, but it didn’t feel out of the ordinary, and when I tested his urine it was completely normal.
The next step was to ask about school. ‘Are any of the other children nasty to you at school?’ I asked. ‘Are you being bullied?’ Bradley shook his head.
‘He’s got loads of mates at school, Dr Daniels,’ Tracey butted in. ‘He loves school, but the teacher says he’s sitting out of games more and gets tired more easily.’ Bradley nodded gloomily in agreement at this. I got Bradley to get on the scales and when I plotted his weight on his growth chart it was dropping off a bit. Weight loss in children is a real worry and I urgently organised some more tests.
Within a couple of weeks Bradley had been for blood tests, X-rays and an ultrasound scan. Everything came back completely normal. I was relieved that Bradley didn’t have leukaemia, which had been my initial fear, but he was still having tummy aches and wasn’t himself. Most six-year-olds will complain of tummy aches at some point or another, but usually it doesn’t last once they are distracted by something fun. I asked Tracey to bring in Bradley to get weighed regularly by our nurse and it was this that led to a breakthrough.
‘He’s