Thursday 15th July 1993 Morning surgery 09:10
My Dad has never been empathic. His matter-of-fact approach is nothing like Dr Lewis’. It annoys Mum when she is ill but most of his patients don’t seem to mind. I have come to the conclusion that I am of a similar character to Dad whilst Dylan is usually too engrossed in the medical details of the patient’s illness to think about anything else.
This morning, Dilys and Dr Lewis were doing a women’s health clinic whilst the three of us did a normal surgery.
Our second patient had severe epididymo-orchitis. His right testicle was the size of a small football. It was hot, red and looked extremely painful. In fact, we didn’t dare examine him.
My Dad shook his head grimly when he saw it. He even squeezed Malcolm Bryant’s upper arm in a sympathetic but manly way. Dylan looked visibly shaken. He did not ask a single question. I had that horrible sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach.
After Mr Bryant left, we all instinctively checked our own testicles.
Cases like this restore one’s faith in human nature.