Doctor in the House Page #8

- Anything the matter?

- Erm... osteomyelitis, sir?

- Mm-hmm.

Would you mind? And that?

Well, come on. Come on. Come on.

Sir, it looks like pickled gherkins.

And this?

There's thyrotoxicosis.

The symptoms are loss of weight...

- Yes.

...tremors of the fingers...

- Yes.

...and he complains of palpitations.

- Any auricular fibrillation?

- No. No auricular fibrillation.

Excellent. Excellent.

And what's the treatment?

Well, er...

- Well?

- Operation. Partial thyroidectomy.

Splendid. Splendid.

My dear sir, I'm glad you're teaching

surgery at St Swithins at last.

This fellow

gave a first-rate diagnosis.

Really? Good afternoon, Mr Briggs.

We've met before, haven't we?

He's a bright lad.

Sorry you didn't hear him.

So am I. Perhaps he would diagnose

another case?

Well, er... one's the rule.

I'm sure Mr Sparrow wouldn't mind

being an exception to the rule.

Oh, very well.

He's a pleasure to listen to.

See what you make of the case next

door, my lad. It's a real stinker.

Next, whoever you are!

Come on. Don't keep me

hanging about here all day.

Right.

I'm a jolly young woman,

23 next birthday,

and I complain of putting on weight.

What do you do?

May one ask if you are jolly

in an attractive way, sir?

I wouldn't waste my time being

knock-kneed with a squint.

Well, then, I should send you

to an antenatal clinic.

Oh, good heavens, man.

If you send every pretty woman

to an ante-natal clinic,

you won't stay in practice long.

- St Swithins?

- Yes, sir.

I thought so.

You all have one-track minds.

All right. I'm a year-old baby

and I'm brought to you

with a pain in the tummy

and yelling blue murder. Waaah!

Well?

I'd ask

if there was anything missing, sir?

- What sort of thing?

- Well, for example, a doorknob.

A doorknob! More likely to be a knob

off the television set nowadays.

Well, what would the symptoms be?

All right. I've swallowed a doorknob.

What would my symptoms be?

Well, I should say mild indigestion.

You would, would you?

What are you going to do?

Give me castor oil and hope?

No, sir. Locate the object

and remove it.

I should ruddy well think so.

And how would you locate the object?

I hope the X-ray department

would help, sir.

- We're on a desert island.

- There wouldn't be a doorknob.

Nonsense. I sell doorknobs and I've

saved my samples from the wreck.

Well, where would it be?

Well... in the oesophagus, sir,

or the stomach,

or the duodenum or the jejunum.

- Do you know where the jejunum is?

- Below the stomach, sir.

Is the object a long-distance runner?

- Do you know where the caecum is?

- Yes, sir.

- All right. Show me.

- Yes.

- There.

- It won't bite you, boy.

- Where?

- In there, sir.

All right. I said show me, not tear

it out with your bare hands.

It's by Mcburney's point.

Where's that?

- Mcburney's point, sir?

- Yes. Do you know?

- It's slipped my memory, sir.

- It's no business to.

Supposing I got to a man's appendix

by cutting off his feet

because I'd forgotten where it was.

Mcburney's point, you ignoramus...

Take your coat off. I'll show you.

- Go on, take your coat off!

- Yes, sir.

Great heavens alive, man.

- What on earth is that?

- A waistcoat, sir.

You have the effrontery to face

the examiners like that?!

In all my years,

I've never seen anything like it.

Thank you, sir. I've never seen

anything like it either.

Rather fewer than usual.

The standard's definitely dropping.

People say that every year.

I failed three times myself.

Doesn't mean a thing.

Here, let's have a look.

- What, him?

- Mmm...

- And him?

- Yes.

- Not him?!

- No!

And him?

Well, it's a good job there aren't

exams for elderly eminent surgeons,

otherwise, I should have to take up

the other kind of butchery.

Here, Jessup. Let them have it.

Hello. Hello. Ah, Dr Evans!

Why so gloomy?

You passed. Got a job, too, I hear.

Oh, yes. Assistant medical officer

in a prison.

- A woman's prison, too.

- Oh!

I start work at Holloway on Monday,

so it's goodbye to this.

- I'm sorry you failed.

- Bad show.

- How's it coming on, Taffy?

- Fine.

Yeah. I've got a date.

New nurse. Real smasher.

- Next term should be all right.

- Well, good luck.

- Grimsdyke, when does Stella leave?

- I don't.

I thought if you failed,

she was leaving.

She was, but since I started working,

she got interested in the noble art.

She joins me as a student next term.

Oh, goody-goody!

I'll be a doctor's husband.

Wonderful!

- You get all the luck.

- Luck? That's long-term planning.

- Mrs Rivington-Lomax.

- Mrs Rivington-Lomax.

Dr Sparrow? Dr Sparrow, sir,

a message from Dr Stewart.

He says will you take over

in Casualty. He's been called out.

I'm sorry.

Oh, I've forgotten my stethoscope.

Anybody got one?

- I won't be long.

- Good luck, Simon.

Simon.

- Hmm?

- Good luck.

Oh, thank you.

I've collected rather a lot of these.

Do you mind taking some back for me?

What a shame.

Your first night as a doctor.

Yes, I suppose

it'll always be like this now.

- Blimey, a doctor.

- Do you feel different?

Yes, I do, rather.

I've suddenly realised

a lot of things.

- A lot. Joy, I...

- Yes, Simon?

Dr Sparrow?

- Will you wait for me?

- Yes, I'll wait.

Thanks.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes