For months, my wife had been worried about the mole. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it but then it was on my back and I was peering at it through a mirror. In the end, she put the job of getting it examined by a doctor into my diary and it became ‘urgent and important’.
I decided I’d ask my colleague in the office next door if he could recommend a dermatologist.
Do you want me to take a look?
I hated to impose, it seemed hardly worth wasting a surgeon’s time looking at something I was convinced was benign.
Without a second thought, he bounced out of his chair and headed to his car appearing a moment later with a head-mounted magnifier.
It looks benign. However I have three rules with these things. We remove it if your wife is worried about it, if you are worried about it or if I’m worried about it. It’s a five-minute job. We can’t be sure until it’s sent to the lab. But you know that.
He smiled kindly. It was a small courtesy to a colleague, but a telling example of how a man you had been a surgeon all his life could still be spontaneously kind. His rule made excellent sense. This behaviour is not in any medical textbook. It’s not recognised as an ‘innovation’ that can improve outcomes. It’s just plain old-fashioned, good-natured thoughtfulness. It doesn’t require a grant or a special piece of equipment or anyone’s approval. It makes all the difference to all of us every day. It’s the sort of thing that speaks of vocation. I’m grateful that my colleague works with me, he is a wonderful communicator and that matters when you are training future doctors.
Picture by British Red Cross