End Of An Era

Hello Friends!

Why do I get so emotional and who would have thought that a simple job of ordering a repeat prescription would have seen me end up a snivelling heap of tears?

Pass the tissues, it's the end of an era.

I don't think anyone can remember a time when we didn't have a General Practitioner, aka a doctor, in the City.  I recall my mother speaking of Dr. Elliot who cared for her since she was a child, and I remember my first GP, Dr George Middleton, who administered care for me and countless many others over several decades.  I was one of the first babies born shortly after he and his own family moved to St Davids to give many years of service to the community as our only GP.  Since his retirement we've been served by many GP's including Drs Hamilton, Grimshaw, Sheldon, Van Kempen, Ferguson, Kauschinger, and Riley to name but a few.

How the Practice has grown with the NHS and changing needs of the community.  Back in the day, we had one GP and one District Nurse, who between them cared for everyone 24/7.  If you got taken ill "out of hours" you telephoned the doctor at his home and he came out regardless of the time, day or night.  We had an ambulance kept in the village, also on call 24/7.  A far cry from today when you wait hours for an ambulance to arrive and it is quicker to drive yourself to the closest A&E Department.

There was no such thing as booking an appointment with a receptionist.  If you wanted to see the Doctor you simply showed up at the Surgery, Monday through Friday, between 9:00 a.m. and 10:30 a.m. or between 5:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. and took your turn.  Going to the doctor was a social event!  We crammed into the tiny waiting room with fourteen chairs and waited for the ♪♪ding dong ♪♪ of the bell announcing Next Patient Please.  A mother with a crying baby or toddler was always invited to go in first!  A pile of magazines sat on a table in the middle of the room, but they mostly remained unread as we all chatted amicably, it was a good place to get all the latest local news!

The District Nurse, Nurse Davies, could be seen cycling her way around the district, come rain or shine, to get from patient to patient for the housebound. Always in uniform, topped with a Gabardine raincoat, nothing stopped this indomitable force from visiting her patients.  In later years she drove a Morris Minor.  She would be in attendance at the Surgery to assist with dressings, stitches, phlebotomy, and other jobs during opening hours.  She worked alone, a far cry from today with multiple Practice Nurses present for a multitude of tasks and clinics.

Then came the days of the receptionist.  The first one I remember was Mrs Catherine Simpson, a lovely lady, totally in charge, she tolerated no nonsense!  Her job was to pull patient notes for the doctor and pass them through a tiny hatch into the consulting room, as well as other general duties.  Her "office" was no bigger than a broom cupboard, which with it's west facing aspect became a furnace in the summer evenings, a far cry from today with a team of receptionists on duty all day long, operating state of the art computers with an endless list of duties and jobs from ordering repeat prescriptions, booking appointments, organising tests, and so much more.  Nowadays, there is even a Practice Manager.  An entire company of workers!

These days it is appointment only and since the Pandemic many appointments are telephone consultations.  My, how things have changed.

When my mother went into labour with me, it was Nurse Davies who was called, and it was she who bundled my mother into her car to whisk her off to the nearest hospital maternity unit, with the message to my grandmother, "if the baby arrives in Newgale, we'll just turn around and come back home!"

When, aged just six weeks old, I was very ill with a bronchial infection, it was Doctor Middleton who attended to me several times a day and gave  my mother the advice, support and care needed to bring me back to the healthy, bouncing baby I became.

When my grandmother died unexpectedly in the early hours of a cold and sombre March morning, it was Doctor Middleton who was  at her bedside within ten minutes of us telephoning him.  He took care of everything efficiently, sympathetically, and professionally, making things as easy as he could for my mother.

Similar stories could be told by every household in the area. 

And now the Surgery is closing its doors for good.  It is a sad day.  I won't go into the whys or the wherefores, or the politics, or rumours that abound, it is happening and despite our protest marches and meetings, the good fight we fought against the bureaucrats of the NHS, the decision is made and will not be undone.  We are being transferred to another surgery in the next village over.  Things will never be the same.  The impact on our tiny community is colossal.

On Monday morning, I telephoned my monthly repeat prescription into the surgery that has served me and others so well for so long, for the last time.  I could not hold back the tears as I spoke to the lovely, kind receptionist on the phone. Jackie is a friend now, and I could hear her voice cracking too.  Next time it will be a different voice, a stranger who takes my request.  

Within a few weeks this old way of doing things will become history.  Children will grow up not knowing what a "house call" is, or what it is like to sit and wait your turn.  This way, the old way, it will be forgotten and become lost in the mists of time, fading slowly from memory until but a whisper, then gone forever.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude to all the doctors, nurses, receptionists and support staff who have cared for me , my family, and countless others over the years, their presence in the City will be sorely missed.

It is the end of an era.

Until next time

Stay safe, stay well

Debbie xx