Love Soap
When one has spent 45 years as a GP, one is bound to come across a story or two that one could (and I think should) divulge, due to the passage of time and the anonymity of those involved!
The GP day is like being sat in front of the TV screen and channel surfing. Every few minutes, you are a part of a new serial or old serial presenting the ever-fascinating complications of the human condition.
That being said, COVID-19 taught us to do one thing and one thing well. Wash your hands. Not just a cursory drip of water, but a good soapy lather massaged into the hands for at least 20 seconds, then rinsed off and the hands dried.
This simple act belies its importance. A GoPro directed towards you would reveal that your hands explore many parts of your anatomy. The COVID-19 virus is detected by a nasal-administered swab. One’s ever-wandering hands may indeed come into contact with, through touch, a distant sneeze wafted across many metres and inhaled to land on the nasal lining.
Soap is so important.
This leads me to my story.
A not so young couple rang my surgery first thing in the morning; this was many years ago. They declared that they had a problem. I had been on part of their journey. They were second-time rounders with the passion and zest of youngsters and, as with most overuse issues, they required a bit of gentle and compassionate general-practice-doctoring – with occasional caution to put the handbrake on for a wee while to allow recovery.
On the morning in question, they seemed rather desperate and so I booked them in together. They came into my room looking rather uncomfortable, and I noted that Jane (not her real name) had her hand in her handbag. It should be stated here that these two were not teetotallers and were apt to excessively imbibe as part of their romancing. Because it was a ‘fit in’ appointment I pressed the point fairly quickly and asked, “what can I do for you today?” Jane’s newly minted husband Blair (not their real names) sat quietly but looked a little uncomfortable.
So the story unfolds that after an alcohol-fuelled night of passion, they decided to bathe together in the silky waters of a bubble bath. I believe it was around 3 am. Jane (not her real name) told the story that as they were lying surrounded by bubbles, exotic perfumes, and flickering candles her intoxicated mind wandered, and she felt compelled to propel her index finger towards the faucet’s dark opening. One can’t imagine what she was thinking, but she gently lent forward and put her finger in the spout. However, sadly she slipped in the mesmerising soft waters of the bath – forcing her finger firmly up the dark interior and jamming it with such force that she was unable to extract it. Blair (not his real name) attempted to blow it out by force himself – through turning the tap on. This did not work. Being a man of many trades, he went to his toolbox and found a Stilson, which for those of you unfamiliar with the term is a pipe wrench.
Part of medical training is learning to manage one’s own emotional response to other people’s predicaments and to use one’s training in a positive way if possible.
After the first full rotation of the faucet…and the finger and the arm and the body and the legs…they both decided to empty the bath. A further six rotations were required.
By this time it was near dawn, and they decided that because I had assisted them so ably in the past, I may be able to get them out of this predicament also and so they waited. Jane (not her real name), with the faucet firmly stuck on the end of her index finger lay quietly till sunrise.
Now obviously my medical training had prepared me for this. I deftly inserted a small ear probe between her finger and the metal, and as I slowly moved it around the 360°, I pushed in some soap. I had used this many times to remove wedding and engagement rings off swollen fingers.
With a simple firm pull, I freed her from her faucet, and they both arose, smiled, and left.
I love soap.