The Local GP

 

Probably, considering the unpredictable nature of our English weather, out-of-season holidays are not more of a gamble than those in midsummer.  But our organised vacations have to be before June or after the middle of September, since the ten or twelve weeks in between represent the period when most holiday venue proprietors have to reap the biggest harvest of the year.  A voluntary committee catering for people, many of whom live on a minimum income, can only afford the cheaper periods of the year.

 

Our main anxiety is for those who spend the other fifty-one weeks of the year in warm hospital wards or Old People’s Homes.  If a cutting east wind prevails even for a few hours, it is impossible to protect these tender constitutions from possible effects of chilling.  It is fortunate that elderly people are usually remarkably tough.  They will feel the cold; they will complain, through chattering teeth, of their discomfort; they will shiver pathetically but as long as they are well and are not allowed to become chilled, the experience has little lasting effect.  The danger symptoms are the cessation of the shivering and the disappearance of discomfort due to the cold.  But one unlucky factor can turn an uncomfortable half-hour into a serious illness.  This happened one year to eight of our wheelchair clients.

 

Even when people are segregated into their own chalets, they spend long periods in crowded parts of the Camp, in the entertainment centres and in a packed dining-room, often polluted with smoke.  In non-moving, airless conditions, infections spread like wildfire and if a ‘cold’ starts, we can be sure that we are going to have to give attention to a large proportion of the guests.  An infection attacked a large proportion of our folk, including Katie, paralysed all down one side and spending the best part of the day in her wheelchair.  She did not complain but Alfred knew his wife, and he announced in troubled tones that she was not well.  This was a warning which could not be ignored and fortunately we recognised it.  Katie’s lungs became congested.

 

The doctor practising immediately opposite the Camp entrance, visited, and prescribed but within hours Katie had pneumonia.  The doctor, a young, competent and highly efficient women, considered.  She assessed the position for some minutes.  She gazed at Katie, apprehensive and troubled and then at us waiting for her verdict.  She looked around the roomy chalet with its stout brick walls, its radiator and wall heater, its large picture window fitted with small ventilating panes, and Alfred, quiet, dedicated and alert.  She sensed our plea.  “I think we’ll leave her here”, she said at last.  “Moving her won’t help her condition.  She can be kept warm and as long as you” – looking at us with her query – “are prepared to nurse her night and day, I’ll undertake to see you get the necessary support”.

 

We breathed a sigh of relief.  Even although Katie was ill, She would still be having her holiday, with plenty to see, friends all around her, her devoted husband with her and as much care as she would need to help her to recover.

 

For the next two days Katie showed little improvement.  Our kindly, sympathetic doctor spent the best part of every afternoon at the Camp.  Katie was given a massive course of drugs which was monitored minute by minute.  Her diabetic condition was assessed with diligence and her insulin was adjusted almost hourly to keep her blood sugar stabilised as accurately as possible.

 

By Thursday the worst was over.  Katie was out of bed, a little thinner, paler and unsteady on her ‘better’ side, but her smile was sunny and she sat at the door of her chalet in the bright warm sunshine and accepted the greetings from dozens of interested friends with delight.  She had an early night and woke on Friday morning all ready for the last day of her holiday.  She had a coach ride around the Norfolk Broads in the afternoon and pushed the events of the middle of the week into the back of her memory.  Alfred gloated over the success of his care with his usual beaming smile.

 

Meanwhile, we were less comfortable.  The infection had spread to six or seven other vulnerable folk and we were attempting to cope with several other guests with congested lungs and streaming noses.  Our valiant little doctor toiled tirelessly.  Had she realised what would be the outcome of her decision to let us look after our first victim, we had no means of knowing, but she could hardly treat any of the subsequent patients with less sympathy than she had shown Katie.  So we nursed seven other unhappy folk who had fallen victims to the virulent infection.  It was not as exacting as it had been with Katie.  For one thing, none of the others had been kept in the cotton wool environment that she had.  Furthermore, we had the advantage that we knew what had worked in our first patient and were able to treat the others more quickly, and with more confidence.

 

As usual, all our poorly people returned with us on Saturday and were taken home, if note completely recovered, then certainly well on the way to their usual fitness.  None had been isolated away from their friends and although their holiday could not have been considered trouble free, it is seldom that anyone can boast to having been ‘hospitalised’ in a Holiday Camp.  The party ‘staff’ reaped new confidence in themselves that they were able to do as good a job of nursing as most hospitals.

 

None of us at the Camp that week will ever forget the humanity of that young efficient general practitioner.