A GP CALLED PADDINGTON
Paddington woke up. He stretched out his arms and yawned the yawn of a bear that had grown accustomed to the comfort of sleeping in a soft bed in a warm house in Notting Hill rather than in a leafy tree in the rainforests of Peru. He emitted a contented growl as he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Having washed his hairy face and attended to his impressive teeth, being a bear who was always careful to obey instructions, Paddington left the cotton buds in their packet and, as had become his custom, proceeded to clean his ears out with an electric toothbrush. Then, with a couple of puffs of Otomize, sprayed into each of his auditory canals to treat his unaccountably persistent otitis externa, he finally completed his morning ablutions.
Downstairs breakfast was almost over and Mrs Bird was already beginning to clear the table. Mr Brown however was still sat there reading the morning paper. Paddington noticed the headline on the front page. Once again it was being reported that GPs were irresponsibly refusing to see patients in their surgeries for face to face appointments.
‘I don’t know’, Mr Brown said to Paddington, noticing him as he clambered onto a chair and began to help himself to a bowl of cereal. ‘Who’d be a doctor these days, what with all the bad press they seem to be getting? Sometimes I worry about whether Judy has done the right thing by going to medical school. Surely there must be better ways for her to make a living’.
Paddington continued to eat his breakfast. He was making something of a mess of things and it wasn’t long before Mrs Bird was fussing around him, mopping up the milk that was dripping off the table and collecting in small pools on the floor.
‘I hope you’re not planning on spending the whole day at home’, she said to Paddington. ‘I’ve already got plenty enough to do today without you making more work for me.’
Paddington thanked Mrs Bird for the breakfast and assured her that he had other plans for the day.
‘I thought I might go and see my friend Mr Gruber’, he said to her. ‘There’s something rather important I’d like to talk to him about’.
Paddington made himself a packed lunch made up solely of marmalade sandwiches which he then proceeded to balance on his head before covering them with his hat. Then he put on his old blue duffel coat and bright red Wellington boots and stepped out of the front door of number 32 Windsor Gardens. As he began to make his way down the steps to the street below he heard an angry voice coming from his neighbour’s house. Mr Curry was leaning out of the front window holding a phone to his ear.
‘Oi bear’, he shouted at Paddington ‘I need you to make yourself useful for once and post a letter for me. It needs to be in the post box at the end of the road before 10 o’clock. I can’t do it as I’m stuck here on the phone trying to get through to the GP surgery. I’ve already been kept waiting for 15 minutes and apparently there are still 37 other callers in front of me in the queue. What kind of service do you call that?’
‘I’m sure they’re all doing their very best’, replied Paddington, ‘I hear they are exceptionally busy at the moment and are struggling to cope with…’
Mr Curry was having none of it and interrupted Paddington mid sentence. ‘Don’t you start with all that rubbish about GPs being busy. The truth is that GPs are overpaid and lazy. They’re just scared of a hard days work and are taking advantage of all this nonsense about Covid-19 to make excuses as to why they can’t do their jobs properly. It’s not good enough. Some of us have urgent medical problems that need sorting. I’ve had a nasty wart on my finger for nearly a week now and I’m going to absolutely insist that somebody sees me about today.’
With that Mr Curry threw an envelope out of the window which landed at Paddington feet. Paddington picked it up and waved it cheerfully at Mr Curry. He then carefully slipped it under his hat explaining that that was where he kept everything that was important. He assured Mr Curry that he’d be sure to post it promptly.
‘Just be sure that you do’ Mr Curry growled at Paddington before slamming his window shut with such force that the glass rattled in the frame and Paddington thought for a moment that it might break.
Paddington continued on his way and before too long he was stood on the Portobello Road, outside the antique shop owned by Mr Gruber. Paddington pushed open the door, and as he did so a small bell chimed to announce his arrival.
‘Ah Mr Brown!’ Mr Gruber exclaimed emerging from the room at the back of the shop, ‘How very lovely it is for me to see you. Come in, come in. You are just in time for elevenses. I was just making some tea. Please join me and tell me what it is that I have done to deserve the honour of your company’.
Paddington sat down on an old chair. Mr Gruber poured them both a small cup of a tea from an old China tea pot and then, noticing that Paddington had a troubled expression on his face, asked his dear friend if anything was the matter.
‘Well it’s like this, Mr Gruber. Everyone seems to be blaming GPs for everything. Almost every day the newspapers have something unpleasant to say about them. Are they really the cause of all the problems in the NHS? And what about Judy? She seems such a kind young lady. Will she become mean and uncaring too after she’s been studying medicine for a few years?’
Mr Gruber walked over to where Paddington was sitting and sat down next to him. He smiled to himself as he placed the cups of tea on the small table that was positioned between them.
‘GPs aren’t the problem’, Mr Gruber began in his strong Hungarian accident. ‘And most of the people know it. But there are those who like to have somebody to blame and though it’s only really a very small number who have it in for GPs at the moment, they are making such a lot of noise just now. So you see Paddington, you shouldn’t believe everything that you read in the papers. If there’s one I know for sure it’s that not everything that’s reported there is strictly true. And something else I know for sure is this. You absolutely needn’t worry about Judy. She’ll always be as lovely as she is today.’
‘But why would reporters not want to tell the truth?’ asked Paddington.
‘Why indeed, Mr Brown Why indeed? Now drink your tea and l’ll see if I can’t find us something nice to eat’.
Paddington and Mr Gruber sat and chatted about how busy the NHS was and discussed what, if anything, could be done to make things easier for those who worked in what was, they both agreed, an organisation that needed to be supported rather than constantly criticised. After a while, Paddington stood up.
‘I think, Mr Gruber, that I had better get going. I think I’ll pop along to the doctors surgery that the Brown’s are registered at and see for myself just how busy they really are. Perhaps I could even lend a helping paw.’
And with that Paddington said ‘Goodbye’. He left Mr Gruber’s shop and made his way to the medical centre. It was about a twenty minute walk away and when he arrived it was approaching midday. Outside the front door of the building was a long queue of people. Paddington made his way to the front where a man was shouting at a receptionist and insisting that he be allowed to speak to the practice manager.
Paddington didn’t like the way the man was speaking to the lady behind the desk who was clearly close to tears. He gave a couple of firm tugs on the man’s sleeve in order to gain the man’s attention. The man duly stopped his tirade towards the poor receptionist and turned to look at the furry faced figure that was standing by his side.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Paddington began. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt what I am sure is a very important conversation but I thought you might like to hear something that my Great Aunt Lucy used to say. She lives in a home for retired bears in Lima now but she always told me that ‘If we are kind and polite, the world will be alright’.
And with that Paddington wandered on into the main body of the medical centre, the man looking incredulously on as he did so. Slowly the man turned back to the receptionist, seemingly lost for words.
‘Was there anything else’, the receptionist asked him, her mouth now breaking out into a broad smile.
‘No, No, Nothing at all. thank you’, said the man. ‘Other than…’ He paused turning to watch as Paddington slipped out of sight. ‘Are you aware that you have bear in your health centre?’
Paddington, meanwhile, was making his way along a quiet corridor. At the end was a door. He pushed it open and found himself in what appeared to be a small store room. In front of him was a cupboard labelled with the words ‘Blood Bottles’. Paddington was a little concerned as to what might lie within so it was with some relief that, when he eventually summoned up the courage to open the door, he found that the shelves were all empty.
To his right was a trolly on which lay a strange looking machine, the like of which Paddington had never seen before. He looked at it closely and saw written over what appeared to be two handles, the words ‘Lift here’. Doing only what he was instructed, Paddington took hold of the handles noticing as he did so their shiny undersides. As he picked them up a light appeared on the machine and a voice that seemed to come from within the machine announced that a shock was advised. Paddington wasn’t quite sure what that meant but as he was pondering what he should do next the voice in the machine spoke again helpfully suggesting that he should press the button that had now started flashing insistently. Paddington clasped the two paddles to his chest with one hand and in so doing freed up the other hand to press the button as he had been directed.
Paddington wasn’t entirely certain what happened to him at that point but the next thing he knew he was he was lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling. Amazingly his hat was still on his head but the fur on his chest was badly singed, his body was covered with a soot like material and he noticed that wisps of smoke were spiralling out of both his ears.
‘Well that was a shock’, Paddington said to himself getting to his feet and brushing himself down. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I moved on and see if I might be able to offer my help more fruitfully elsewhere.’
Paddington made his way back down the corridor passing the reception area again and continuing on until he eventually came to a large room in which were a number of chairs placed in pairs, each pair a couple of metres away from any others. Only one chair was occupied. A young woman sat with her head down staring at the ground. She was fidgeting with her hands and she was having difficulty keeping her feet still. Paddington thought she looked sad and he went over to her seating himself in the chair next to hers.
‘What’s the problem’, he said to the woman who looked up at him, seemingly not registering the fact that she was being talked to by a bear.
‘Oh just everything’, she answered and with that she began to cry and proceeded to tell Paddington so many things that she was concerned about that Paddington didn’t know what to say. He thought it would be best therefore if he said nothing at all and decided instead to gently place his paw on the woman’s hand.
‘I’m sorry you’re sad’ he said, and as he did so a tear began to trickle down his cheek. As he sat there he remembered something else his Aunt Lucy had once told him, something she’d once read about how a real friend, a friend who truly cares, is someone who knows how to share the pain of another, who can stay with that person in their hour of grief and can face with them the reality of their powerlessness.
After a few minutes of silence, the woman looked up and smiled at Paddington, ‘Thank you’, she said. ‘It’s been lovely having you sat with me for a while. You’re a very kind bear.’
Just then a man stumbled into the waiting room. He staggered around until eventually he collapsed onto one of the chairs on the other side of the room to where Paddington and the young woman were sitting. He looked unwell. Very unwell. His skin was sweaty and he appeared confused. Paddington walked over to man and tried to make conversation but Paddington couldn’t make any sense of what the man was saying.
Paddington looked at the clock on the waiting room wall and noticing that the time was a little after one o’clock, had an idea. Perhaps, he thought, the problem was simply that the man was hungry. And with that Paddington lifted his hat and took the marmalade sandwiches that he’d made earlier down from off his head.
“Would you like to share my lunch?’ Paddington asked the man, ‘I never feel my best if I go without something to eat around this time of the day.’
The man didn’t appear to understand what Paddington was saying. He only seemed to be getting more and more unwell. Paddington, confident now that he’d diagnosed the problem correctly, forced open the man’s lips and pushed a little of one of the sandwiches into the man’s mouth. At first nothing happened but slowly the man’s colour returned and his speech became more coherent. Within a minute or two he’d stopped sweating and was sat upright in the chair smiling.
At that moment a doctor rushed into the room having been called by a receptionist who had noticed the sick man when he had first lurched into the building a few minutes previously.
‘What’s up?’ gasped the doctor, catching his breath after running as fast he could from his room on the other side of the building. He’d been busy all morning seeing other folk who were unwell and had just been admitting a patient who was acutely short of breath with what he suspected was a pulmonary embolus.
‘Nothing now, doc!’ smiled the man. ‘thanks to this ‘ere bear! I’d given myself too much insulin this morning and I was having another one of my hypos. But this young bear’s marmalade sandwich has put me right good and proper so it has!’
Paddington didn’t really understand what the man was saying but was glad he was clearly feeling very much better. A number of other people were now gathering in the waiting room and every single one of them was looking at Paddington. Paddington smiled back at them, taking a mouthful of what was left of the half eaten sandwich. ‘Would anyone else like I bite?, he asked. ‘I find that most things seem better after eating a small amount of marmalade’.
It was then that another receptionist walked into the room. She was looking somewhat alarmed. ‘Dr Mungo’, she said nervously. ‘There are some people here to see you. They say they are from the CQC’.
The receptionist stepped to one side revealing the two men and one women who were stood there behind her. They were all wearing smarts suits and clutching clipboards. None of them were smiling. The woman, who seemed to be the leader of the group, stepped forward.
‘We’ve come as a result of reports we’ve received that there is a bear on your premises. As you’ll be aware this is entirely unacceptable and if true will undoubtedly lead to the practice being rated as inadequate and having to shut down immediately’.
The room fell deathly silent. But then the man who had until recently been so unwell, stood up and approached the group of officials. ‘I’ll have you know this young bear just about saved my life’.
‘That’s as maybe sir. But how well a bear may or may not have managed your particular condition doesn’t change anything. The presence of a bear within the walls of a GP practice is a clear contravention of the guidelines that have been laid down to ensure the safe running of medical centres and I am afraid that I therefore have no option but…’
At this point the CQC inspector stopped talking, her eyes drawn to Paddington who had also stood up and was now looking at the woman intently. In fact, so intently was he looking at her, he might even be said to have been staring, one of those hard stares that Aunt Lucy had taught him to give to those who were acting in ways of which they should be ashamed. The inspector flushed, obviously embarrassed by her behaviour.
‘…but perhaps’ the woman continued slowly, ‘we can make an exception in this case. In fact, it will be my recommendation that this practice be rated as ‘Outstanding’, and I will see to it that you won’t face any further inspection for at least three years’.
With that the team of inspectors turned and left the building and everybody started clapping in delight. Somebody shouted ‘Three cheers for Paddington’ and before long a song started up, the gist of which seemed to be that everyone was happy to agree that Paddington was ‘a jolly good fellow’. Paddington however was feeling uneasy and his ursine features could not conceal the fact. Dr Mungo, noticing something was up, stepped over to where Paddington was sat and asked him what the matter was.
‘It’s this letter’, said Paddington, holding out the envelope that Mr Curry had thrown at him earlier. ‘I promised my neighbour that I’d post it by 10 o’clock but I completely forgot. It was only when I went to get my sandwich out from under my hat coat and it fell on the floor that I remembered. And now it’s too late and I won’t be able to post it on time’.
Dr Mungo took the letter form Paddington and laughed. ‘It’s OK, Paddington’, he said. ‘look at the address. It’s a letter for here! And if I’m not very mistaken I recognise the handwriting. It’s that of somebody who is always writing letters of complaint to the practice. I’ll file it with the others!’
Paddington was delighted by the news that Mr Curry’s letter had safely arrived at it’s intended destination. ‘Oh I am glad’, he said, ‘because it is so important one keeps one’s promises’. He paused for a moment. ‘Dr Mungo, try not to be too hard on Mr Curry. I don’t think he means to be unpleasant, it’s just that he doesn’t seem to have much that makes him happy. I think perhaps his life may have been rather hard’.
‘Don’t worry Paddington‘ said Dr Mungo smiling, ‘I’ll do my best to follow the advice of an old Peruvian bear who I believe once said that, ‘If you look for the good in people, you’ll generally find it’.
Paddington smiled. ‘Oh that’s so true, Dr Mungo. Aunt Lucy certainly is a wise old bear. But before I leave you to get on with your work, here’s something else she used to say. ‘However busy you are – always stop for lunch’.
And with that Paddington removed his hat and held out to Dr Mungo what was left of his lunch. ‘How do you fancy a marmalade sandwich?’ he said.
*****
PADDINGTON AND THE AILING ELDERLY RELATIVE
It was Christmas Eve and Dr Mungo was writing up what he hoped would be the last consultation of the day. As he did so he reflected on what had been an eventful twelve months. A year previously he’d been a partner at Portside Medical Centre but when several doctors left and nobody could be found to replace them, the practice had eventually collapsed. And so, when Bob Cratchit had got in touch and asked whether he would like to join his practice, filling the vacancy created by the untimely death of Dr Ebenezer Scrooge exactly one year ago, Dr Mungo had jumped at the chance.
The last few weeks though had been incredibly difficult. The demand for appointments had never been so high with duty doctors regularly being asked to manage more than a hundred requests for urgent medical attention a day. No wonder he was looking forward to a few days off over Christmas.
But then the phone rang. Dr Mungo picked up the receiver and heard the familiar voice of one of his receptionist.
‘I’m sorry to bother you Dr Mungo but we’ve just had a ‘walk in’ who says he’s worried about his Aunt. He says he tried to phone but, what with us taking so many calls this afternoon, he couldn’t get through. I should add, Dr Mungo, that the person with me in reception…well…he’s not a person at all. He is in fact…a bear!’
‘A bear you say?’
‘That’s right. And he says he knows you’.
‘Does he now?’ said Dr Mungo beginning to smile. ‘Is he by chance wearing a blue duffel coat and sporting a red hat?’
‘As a matter of fact he is. How did you know that?’
‘Because one doesn’t get to meet too many bears, not, at least, in this part of the world. It can only be Paddington. And yes I do know him well. What’s more I will be forever indebted to him as a result of his coming to my rescue when the CQC paid a particularly stressful visit to my old practice. Please, show him through’.
And so a minute or two later Paddington was stood in the doorway of Dr Mungo’s room.
‘Good evening Dr Mungo’ he said, lifting his hat as he did so. ‘It’s very kind of you to see me so late in the day. And on Christmas Eve too’
‘Not at all Paddington, it’s my very great pleasure. Now, how can I help?’
‘It’s my Aunt Lucy, Dr Mungo. She’s not been in the best of health for a while and has been in residential care for some years, living in a home for retired bears in deepest, darkest Peru. But she’s always wanted to visit London and the Brown’s very kindly said she could come and stay for Christmas. But this week she become more unwell with her breathing getting steadily worse. She didn’t want me to bother anyone but today I’m very worried about her. Could you possibly come and see her?’
‘Of course Paddington’, said Dr Mungo noticing the clock was showing that it was now past six thirty. ‘I’ll come straight away. Have you got your car?’
‘Sadly not. I had to stop driving a couple of months ago following an episode when Mr Brown panicked and took me to casualty because he sought I’d had some kind of absence attack. It was eventually put down as an unprovoked syncopal episode though in reality it was merely that I was experiencing a moment of ecstasy after tasting Mrs Bird’s steamed marmalade pudding’.
‘Oh I am sorry Paddington. But never mind that now, we’ll go together in my car. Follow me’
Dr Mungo grabbed his medical bag and exited the building, pursued by a bear. Paddington’s home was a few minutes drive away and so Dr Mungo took the opportunity to ask Paddington what he’d been up to since last they’d met.
‘Oh nothing much’, Paddington said, ‘though, having said that, there was that one occasion when I had tea at Buckingham Palace. I met the Queen there, a lovely lady and, do you know Dr Mungo, she told me she once did a parachute jump?’
‘I did hear something about that’ replied Dr Mungo, pulling up outside 32 Windsor Gardens as he did so.
They got out of the car and headed into the house whereupon Paddington led the way to the downstairs room where his ailing aunt was lying in bed. The room was in darkness and the only sound that could be heard was the obviously laboured breathing of an elderly omnivore. It was immediately clear to Dr Mungo that Paddington’s Aunt Lucy was in urgent need of medical attention and wasted no time in pulling his phone from out of his pocket and dialling 999.
The phone rang…and rang…and rang. But nobody answered. Eventually, when nearly ten minutes had past, Dr Mungo, knew he could wait no longer. Lately he had had patients experience long delays for ambulances and he was, therefore, all too well aware of how stretched the emergency services were. And so he decided he and Paddington would have to try and get Aunt Lucy to the hospital themselves.
Kneeling down next to her bed, he asked if she thought she could try to make it to the car. Aunt Lucy indicated her willingness to try with an almost imperceptible nod of her head and so began the painful process of sitting her up in her bed, easing her legs over the edge of the bed and then, with all her weight supported upon Dr Mungo’s shoulders, slowly walking her out of the room, across the hall and out onto the street. Finally, having manoeuvred Aunt Lucy into the backseat of his car and strapped Paddington safely in beside her, Dr Mungo got into the driver’s seat and set off for the hospital. As they arrived it was beginning to snow. Dr Mungo found a wheelchair that they could make use of and before long he was wheeling his ever more breathless patient through the doors of the A&E department.
Inside, the waiting room was packed. Patients were sat on every available chair and many more were sitting on the floor. A television screen attached to the wall indicated that the average waiting time was seven hours. Dr Mungo said that he’d stay with Aunt Lucy and suggested that Paddington should join the queue to tell the receptionist of their arrival.
In front of him was a man he recognised as his perpetually complaining neighbour, Mr Curry. Eventually he made it to the front of the queue and glared at the young woman who was doing her very best to enter everybody’s details on the hospital computer system.
‘Call this the National Health?’ Mr Curry began. ‘More like the national disgrace. You should all be ashamed of yourselves’
The receptionist tried to ignore his unpleasantness and enquired how she might help.
‘I want to see a doctor and I want to see one now’
‘Well as you can see sir, we are very busy. But if you could tell me what the problem is we’ll do all we can to help you just as soon as we possibly can’
‘I’m not telling someone who isn’t medically trained my problems. Get me a doctor this minute’
As he said this he felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see Paddington looking at him intently. Suddenly he felt somewhat hot about the collar.
‘Why are you looking at me like that…is it me or is it hot in here… why am I feeling so uncomfortable…so flushed…so queasy?’
‘It’s a hard stare Mr Curry’ replied Paddington. ‘My aunt taught me to do them when people had forgotten their manners’
Suddenly Mr Curry forgot what aspect of his health had been concerning him and he wandered away from the reception desk leaving Paddington at the front of the queue. The receptionist smiled at him and thanked him for his patience.
‘That’s totally OK’ Paddington said, ‘I can see that you are busy, it must be very hard for you’
‘It is a little – especially when not everyone is as understanding as you are’
‘Aunt Lucy always says that if you look for the good in people, you’ll find it.’
The receptionist, unaccustomed to being spoken to so kindly, looked for a moment that she might cry.
‘Your aunt sounds like a very wise and exceptionally kind lady’ she said. ‘Perhaps she should write a book containing all the beautiful things that life has taught her’
‘That’s a lovely idea’ said Paddington, ‘but first I think she might need to see a doctor. She’s over there in the wheelchair. She’s very weak and she can hardly breathe’.
The receptionist looked across to where Paddington was indicating and saw immediately that Aunt Lucy needed urgent attention. She promised Paddington that she would get her seen as soon as possible and hurried off to find a nurse. Moments later one appeared and Paddington and Dr Mungo watched as she wheeled Aunt Lucy off to a separate room, explaining as she did so, that she’d be back as soon as she had any news.
It was now nearly 8pm and Paddington told Dr Mungo to go home explaining that he’d be fine now by himself. He explained the Browns would all be home by now and they would be able to collect him when the time came. Dr Mungo conceded that there was no more that he could do at present and so said his goodbyes but not before making Paddington promise that he would call if there was anything he could do to help.
Once alone, Paddington realised he was thirsty and he noticed that there was a machine that dispensed hot drinks standing in the corner of the waiting room. He briefly considered making use of it but, with the memory of an encounter he once had with a defibrillator still fresh in his mind, he dismissed the notion, recognising how, whenever he tried to make use of any electrical appliance, disaster seemed to inevitably ensue. On this occasion however he needn’t have worried for the machine was out of order and had been for some while.
Paddington then went for a walk around the emergency department. Amongst those waiting for treatment it seemed to Paddington that there were a great many who didn’t really need to be there at all and he wondered how the doctors and nurses coped in the face of such demand. Wandering further he passed through some double doors and found himself in a room where a doctor was sat at a desk with his head in his hands. And Paddington suddenly realised that not all doctors and nurses were coping.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked the doctor who looked like he might have been crying.
‘Oh nothing’ the medic replied. ‘It’s just that sometimes it all feels too much and that I’m just not good enough’
‘My Aunt Lucy says that we should never blame ourselves for what isn’t our fault.’ said Paddington. ‘She’d say that you were undoubtedly doing your best in sometimes impossible circumstances and that’s all anyone could ever ask of you’.
And with that Paddington lifted up his hat and pulled out a marmalade sandwich. ‘Before he died, my Uncle Pastuzo used to say ‘A wise bear always keeps a marmalade sandwich in his hat in case if emergency’. Well it seems to me that this is just such an emergency.’
Paddington held out the sandwich. ‘Take it’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good. You know, one marmalade sandwich contains all the minerals and vitamins a bear needs for a whole day!’
The doctor took a bite and as he did so he felt instantly better. It wasn’t that he was suffering from any nutritional deficiency, nor was it that he liked marmalade, on the contrary he found the taste particularly unpleasant. But the kindness with which the snack had been offered was sufficient to lift his spirits’.
‘Thank you’ the doctor said, putting what was left of the sandwich on the desk. ‘I guess I had better see another patient. It’s just such a shame that we sometimes have to see so many that don’t really need to be seen at all’.
And it was then that Paddington had an idea. He made his way back to the middle of the waiting room and then, having taken a big breath in, gave the biggest ursine growl of his young life. And then, as the sound of his exhalation rattled the windows of the waiting room, something remarkable happened as dozens and dozens of patients whose medical needs were not worthy of their attendance in an A&E department decided they would rather not wait any longer and simply left, leaving only those who were truly in need of medical attention.
The medical staff were delighted at the effect of Paddington’s intervention and set about their work with renewed vigour. But even as they did so, Paddington noticed that his efforts hadn’t been sufficient to encourage Mr Curry to leave.
‘Are you aware there’s a bear in your department’ he said to the receptionist before turning towards Paddington and approaching him with such a frown on his face that it was all too apparent that he’d found yet another thing he could complain about.
‘Well I wouldn’t exactly call that benevolent, roaring so loudly and scaring so many needy people away. I’d say it was rather hypocritical coming from bear who is always insisting that we should always be kind. What would your precious Aunt Lucy say about that I wonder!’
Paddington paused a moment to consider his response. ‘I think, Mr Curry, that she’d say that kindness isn’t simply a matter of being nice, that sometimes it’s also about being fair, and that what’s fair isn’t always what everyone wants’. And then Paddington gave another of his hard stares, one that was so hard that even Mr Curry couldn’t help but turn tail and head out of the casualty department and into the cold night air.
Exhausted by his endeavours, Paddington sat down in one of the now numerous empty seats. He watched as all around him the NHS did what it does best, namely providing care that is free at the point of need to those who required it. And he wondered how Aunt Lucy was getting on and whether or not she’d be all right.
Half an hour had passed when Paddington heard a familiar voice. Looking up he saw it was his good friend Mr Gruber, who, he remembered, had taken a job as a hospital porter to supplement his income now that, as a result of the economic downturn, his antique shop was no longer an establishment that made a profit sufficient to live on.
‘Master Brown’, he said ‘I have been twisting my knickers looking for you. Aunt Lucy has been moved to a side room in a ward elsewhere in the hospital. The doctors are saying you can see her now. Follow me’.
Mr Gruber led Paddington down a long empty corridor till they came to the ward where Aunt Lucy had been taken. On the left there was a side room, the door of which Mr Gruber opened and ushered Paddington in. Aunt Lucy was lying in a bed, her breathing less laboured. She appeared to be asleep
‘The doctors, they soon will be here’ said Mr Gruber quietly. ‘When they arrive be careful not to be forgetting your queues and peas’. He smiled at his friend and then slipped out of the room.
Paddington sat down on the chair next to the bed and waited. After a few minutes the door opened and in walked two women both with stethoscopes draped around their necks. The taller of the two approached Paddington and introduced herself.
‘Hello Paddington, my name is…’
‘The same as mine’. The voice was barely audible but unmistakably that of Aunt Lucy. ‘I can see it written on your badge’
‘That’s right’, said the woman, turning to Aunt Lucy. ‘I’m a consultant who specialises in elderly care. And this is a medical student who’s working with me this evening. Her name’s…’
‘Judy’, exclaimed Paddington excitedly, suddenly recognising Mr and Mrs Brown’s daughter who was, he remembered, nearing the end of her medical training. ‘It’s so good to see you!’ He slipped off the chair and gave her a big hug.
The consultant smiled at them as she watched them greet each other. She sat down on the edge of Aunt Lucy’s bed and waited for small bear as he climbed back onto his chair. As he did so, Paddington watched the consultant intently and wondered what it was that she would have to say.
‘How is she Doctor?’ he asked.
‘Well Paddington, I’m afraid your Aunt is very old now. As you know she’s been becoming frailer of late. And now she’s really quite poorly’ The consultant turned to Aunt Lucy and placed her hand on her paw. ‘We’ve done some tests, an X-ray and some scans, and we’ve found that there is a growth on her lungs. The kind of growth that is going to get bigger, the kind of growth that we can’t do a great deal about’. The consultant paused a moment, allowing Paddington to take in the enormity of her words. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ she asked gently.
‘Are you saying, she’s got…’ Paddington paused, not wanting to add the word he knew he must. ‘Cancer?’
‘I’m afraid I do’
All was quiet for a few moments. Nobody spoke. Eventually Aunt Lucy broke the silence.
‘It’s all right Paddington’, she whispered. ‘It’s all right. It’s my time’.
Paddington slipped back down from his chair and climbed up onto Aunt Lucy bed and kissed her, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek. He looked back at the consultant.
‘Is there nothing you can do?’ he asked quietly.
‘Oh yes, there’s a lot we can do…but we can’t cure her.’
Again the consultant paused and Paddington looked down at Aunty Lucy again
‘We can’t cure her Paddington, but we can care for her’
Paddington looked up again as another tear began it’s long journey down his cheek and along his nose before falling silently to the floor. He wasn’t sure what to say.
The consultant turned again to her patient. ‘What’s important to you Aunt Lucy’ she asked.
‘Being with Paddington’, Lucy replied, taking her nephew’s paw in hers as she did so. ‘And marmalade of course!’ she added, managing a slight chuckle.
The consultant smiled again. ‘Would you like to go home?’
‘I rather think I would. You’ve been very kind, but I’m not sure I like being in a hospital.’
‘Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll get everything organised for you to go home where you’ll be more comfortable. We’ll speak to Dr Mungo and make sure everything is properly in place. I’m sure that he and the district nurses will be able to provide all the support you’ll need’.
The consultant stood up and checking that nobody had anything else they wanted to ask made to leave. At the door she turned and asked Paddington whether perhaps she could ask him a question.
‘Of course!’, he replied
‘That time you met the Queen – did she really have a sandwich in her handbag?’
Paddington smiled. ‘Oh yes!’ he said earnestly. ‘And she used to make her own marmalade too. I’m sure that is the reason she lived to such a ripe old age. Is that a possibility?’
‘Well,’ replied the consultant, ‘I couldn’t say for sure, but I understand that marmalade is a good source of vitamins and minerals so it certainly won’t have done her any harm. Perhaps I should start carrying a marmalade sandwich in my medical bag – just in case of emergencies!’
And with that the consultant left the room, indicating to Judy as she did so that she should stay with Paddington and Aunt Lucy.
For a while none of them said anything, choosing instead to hold each other and share the preciousness of those few moments in each another’s company
‘Judy’ began Paddington eventually, ‘the consultant you’re working with, she is a good doctor isn’t she?’
‘Oh yes Paddington. She’s one of the very best. Like your Aunty Lucy she is very wise and exceptionally kind. She always knows what’s best – sometimes I think she must know everything that there is to know.’
‘Perhaps she should write a book’
‘Perhaps she already has!‘
Paddington’s eyes widened.
‘That’s right Paddington. And a very good book it is too. In fact it’s thebook about getting older. You should read it one day!’
‘Perhaps I will’ said Paddington, ‘but first I think we should ring your parents. They’ll be wondering where I am. It’ll soon be Christmas Day and I wouldn’t want them to worry about me! And besides, I have a question I need to ask them’, he added, looking at his dear Aunt Lucy. ‘Would they please look after this bear!’
*****
Far, far away, yet somewhere unimaginably close, Dr Ebenezer Scrooge is walking across beautifully green fields. Alongside him is Mrs Gray, his former patient, who had died only a year or two before the former GP. They are laughing together
Up ahead is a wood – a vast unexplored wilderness. There they meet a bear whose name is Pastuzo. He tells them how a new room has been built on the tree house where he lives and that recently a huge preserving pan has been delivered full to overflowing with perfectly ripe Seville oranges. He says that it’s almost as though a place is being prepared for a new arrival with everything that they could ever possibly want being made ready for them.
Pastuzo wonders who it might be. He says he thinks he knows. And now he can barely contain his delight.
THE END
‘Paddington and the Ailing Elderly Rekative’ serves to complete both ‘The Scrooge Chronicles’ and ‘The Dr Mungo Chronicles’, the latter being made up of ‘Mr Benn – the GP’, ‘A GP called Paddington’ and ‘Scooby Doo and the Deserted Medical Centre’. Links to all these stories can be found below together with a review of ‘The Book About Getting Older’ written by Dr Lucy Pollock. You’ll also find links to a number of other GP related tales and some attempts at Christmas Comic Verse.
*****
To read ‘The Scrooge Chronicles’, click here
To read ‘Mr Benn – the GP’, click here
To read ‘A GP called Paddington’, click here
To read ‘Scooby Doo and the Deserted Medical Centre’, click here
To read ‘Book Review: The Book About Getting Older’, click here
To read ‘How the Grinch and Covid stole General Practices Christmas’, click here
To read ‘Twas the NHS week before Christmas – 2022’, click here
To read ‘the day LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD got sick’, click here
To read ‘Dr Jonathan Harker and the post evening surgery home visit’, click here
To read ‘Bagpuss and the NHS’, click here
To read ‘Jeeves and the Hormone Deficiency’, click here
To read ‘Jeepy Leepy and the NHS’, click here
To read ‘The Three Little GPs and the Big Bad Secretary of State for Health’, click here
To read ‘A Dream of an Antiques Roadshow’, click here
To read ‘The NHS Emporium’, click here
To read ‘Mr McGregor’s Revenge – A Tale of Peter Rabbit’, click here
To read ‘Dr Wordle and the Mystery Diagnosis’, click here
To read ‘The Happy Practice – A Cautionary Tale’, click here
To read ‘The Three General Practitioners Gruff’, click here
To read ‘General Practices are Go!’, click here
To read ‘A Mission Impossible’, click here
To read ‘A Grimm Tale’, click here
To read ‘The General Practitioner – Endangered’, click here
To read ‘The State of Disrepair Shop’, click here
Some musings 