Doing good medicine

Years ago, I had conversations about medicine, doing ‘good’ medicine, and ‘practicing’ medicine with my late father, Dr. James MacInnis who set up shop in Bath, Carleton County in 1950 and provided medical care and compassion to patients for several decades. He was my first contact with a physician who ‘did’ good medicine. Dr. John Lockhart was our neighbour, and a surgeon who provided many years of excellent care to patients in the Bath and surrounding areas. ‘Dr. John’ treated me in the early 80s when I tripped over my cat, a creature who had no regard for where he flopped down. I dislocated my left (dominant) elbow and was sidelined for a month from walking with crutches or propelling a wheelchair. It was his son, Dr. Colin Lockhart who travelled to the Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital to break me out. We were homeward bound and the decision was made after a consultation between him and Dad to admit me to hospital for my own safety. I’d have been in a fine mess, sporting a half cast on my arm, if I’d fallen and gone boom while home alone. I was incarcerated for a month!

Dad and Dr. John Lockhart are no longer with us, but John’s sons, Colin and Bruce still provide care to the patients in the Bath and surrounding areas. Again, physicians who did and who are ‘doing’ good medicine. 

My exposure to physicians who did good medicine started with my Dad, and within within my first year, 1954-1955, I experienced the fine care of  Dr. Barbara Robinson, paediatrician and Dr. Alexander (Sandy) Torrie at the then Polio Clinic attached to the Victoria Public Hospital. It was Dr. Robinson who diagnosed the cerebral palsy, with the classification, ‘spastic diplegia’; only my legs were compromised, but the spine and trunk were weakened. Years of therapy would ensure and enhance quality of life. Physicians ‘doing’ good medicine and following me and my progress made the difference. Such is the case with all patients who are fortunate enough to have a doctor who listens and who hears! A doctor who ‘hears’ what is not said is rare. 

Dr. Torrie was an orthopaedic surgeon who trained in Scotland and who would follow my case/progress for the next 26 years. He and his motley crew, two Scotsmen, John Ross and Pat Greechan, matter of fact physiotherapists were part of my paediatric care team. All put me through my paces, no holds barred. They ‘did’ good medicine and good/effective therapy. Those were the days when doctors asked questions beyond the medical ones, to get a sense of what was really going in the life of their patient. The unseen is just as important as what they are able to observe, allowing for a fuller diagnosis of a problem.

Another physician who did good medicine was Dr. Barbara Patricia Thorpe.  ’Doctor Pat’ Thorpe passed away on 1 September. She was my doctor after I left university, recommended by Campus physician, Dr. Robert Tingley, and she was also highly recommended by my Dad, who shared a story about treating her in the Bath hospital years ago; she had been in an auto accident. He didn’t share particulars, though suffice to say he was impressed with her. All those many years later when I had my first meeting/interview with her, I was equally impressed. She asked all the right questions and didn’t miss a beat. A copious note taker, she wanted to make sure all the boxes were ticked.

Blood pressure, pulse and temp taken. Heart and lung listen. Then the weigh-in. She’d wait til I positioned myself on the scale and relieve me of my crutches. At one stage while I was under her care, I revisited the wearing of  below the knee AFOs (ankle-foot orthotics), with one being a plastic slip in the shoe variety and the other a metal brace that clipped into the heel of the shoe — reminiscent of the heavy metal braces I wore as a child, only those were waist high. I’d ask Dr. Thorpe to ball-park the weight of the braces and deduct. Vanity prevails! She had the soul of a comedian. On a number of occasions, I’d see her and ask her when she was due - she wasn’t pregnant. Oops! She always said she had trouble controlling her weight. On one particular weigh-in she got me back; she stood behind me, adjusting the slide at the top of the scale. What I didn’t know was that  she had her toe on the back of the scale, creating enough difference for me to question why I gained weight when I knew I hadn’t She admitted that she was getting me back for the ‘fat’ thing. Uh huh! 

Back to business after the laugh. She asked how life was going, was always very interested in my writing - at that point, I was contributing to Letters to the Editor. She said I should write a book; she was familiar with my late uncle’s book, The Aging Game, based on his syndicated medical column, Senior Clinic and was convinced that I had a volume or two in me.

I think she’d be pleased to know that I’ve ‘arrived’ and now share with readers of this paper what I live and learn as I age with disability. Who knows? Maybe she got to read a few that made her smile. I raise a glass to you, ‘Dr Pat’. Rest In Peace, dear and glorious physician.