Dr Mack

Doctors polarise opinion. I could name every G.P. in our county and, for each one, I could produce an equal number of our customers who believe they are candidates for sainthood or who think they should be strung up by their own stethoscope. (Interestingly, the only exception I have ever come across to this rule was Fred, a.k.a. Harold, Shipman. I worked in his area and he was universally loved - go figure). The fact is, G.P.'s are like anyone else, they have good and bad days, types of work they excel at and types at which they do not. Thank God that Barry had Dr. Mack.
Dr. Mack is close to retirement, a dour Scot with the bedside manner of a rattlesnake and a heart of gold. Some people cannot get past his absence of small talk and his inability to hold hands, metaphorically or otherwise, but I love him to bits.
I knew Barry for several months after he was referred to us for personal care. He was seventy two but looked younger, a tall good looking man with a salt and pepper beard and a laugh that started at his toes and filled the room. His wife, Caro, adored him and he adored her right back. They welcomed the staff from the first day like long lost family. We tell the staff that there are professional boundaries, they should not be hugging and kissing clients and they certainly shouldn't be popping back at the end of their run for cheese on toast and games of cards on Barry's bed covers. Barry and Caro weren't our employees though, and they ripped up my rule book. Everyone was hugged to Caro's ample bosom on arrival and leaving and it got to the point where she suggested I rang the house mid afternoon rather than individual team members because they were usually there anyway. Barry had Lung cancer with bone metastases, particularly cruel given that he had never smoked and had been, in Caro's words, a health freak, running marathons into his sixties and eating an organic vegetarian diet. He was obviously weak and often breathless but he joked about his illness, telling the girls he was a dire warning - being good got you nowhere, they had better heed his fate and party like mad while they had the chance. I confess, I probably visited Caro and Barry more than was strictly necessary myself and more than once I found myself dangerously close to telling Caro my own sadnesses over a mug of coffee at her big kitchen table but I resisted and settled instead for being treated like a favourite daughter and getting one of those hugs on leaving.
Barry stayed relatively well for about three months but then he started to really deteriorate and eventually he got an infection that had him rushed into hospital, his lungs had filled with fluid and it looked touch and go. He survived but it was then decided he needed a last ditch blast of radiotherapy and he remained in hospital. Weeks passed and although the girls kept in touch the waters of my work life moved on and, beyond asking how he was doing, Barry moved down the list of my priorities.
Caro rang me late one afternoon to ask if I would let the girls know Barry was very ill. A quick call to the social work team confirmed this, they had been told he had days , maybe hours, rather than weeks. I was confused - everything I knew and everything the couple had said had led me to believe that Barry wanted to die at home. I was horrified to learn that the necessary equipment and services could not be put in place for at least a week, the hospital had been caught unawares, sometimes the progress of a disease just cannot be predicted. Anybody else I know, including myself, would have been raging but when I rang Caro back she was full of praise for the hospital and, more importantly, Caro was in huge denial. Her stance was, "They don't know Barry, he will hang on until he can get home, he cannot die yet"
I found myself ringing Dr. Mack . I hardly knew why but I knew Barry had been his patient and I just needed to vent my anguish. It tells you all you need to know about the man that he rang me back within half an hour. He was his usual irascible self though, greeting my outburst with a non committal "Is that so?" and ending the call with the information that he would go up to the hospital to see Barry "if he had time later"
I got the call next morning, Somehow the equipment had been found and the Macmillan nurses were primed and Barry would be coming home - could we take the care back at an increased level? If it had been impossible I would still have said yes and we arranged for care to start with the evening call that day. I went myself with the team leader to find two Macmillan nurses and two District nurses and a shiny new hospital bed ensconced where Barry's old bed had stood. Barry looked...like Barry. He was painfully thin and a terrible colour but his grin was the same and he teased me that I would be overcome with jealousy when I saw how shapely his legs had become. We carried out the care as if he was made of glass but the familiar laughter echoed around the room as we did it and Caro hovered at the door, joining in with eyes that were too bright but which remained fixed on her beloved Barry. She told us Dr. Mack had arranged everything but I don't think she knew what a miracle the grumpy doctor had perpetrated and I didn't enlighten her. We hugged on the driveway, all pretense of professional reserve gone now and I drove away wondering whether Barry would be there in the morning. He was, but the morphine from the driver had kicked in and he barely stirred when his beloved girls changed him and made him comfortable. He slipped away just before lunchtime, surrounded by family and with Caro holding his hand. It was heartbreaking but he was at home, as he and Caro had wished, and his family rejoiced for that. I don't know if even now they know that final blessing on a lifetime of love was down to the inimitable Dr. Mack.