Dr Finlay's Casebook (6 page)

In the silence that followed Finlay felt his hand gripped again.

‘So you agree Bob. I thought you would!’

The answer came instantly. ‘Of course I agree, dear Finlay, with all my heart, and I beg you to ring your professor, right away, soon, soon!’

Finlay replied quickly and firmly, ‘I have already telephoned him, Bob! It’s all arranged. Ye may send Bess off first thing tomorrow. Tell her to go straight from the station to
Professor Sinclair at the university. I’ve got him really interested in her case and he will take care of everything.’

Six months later on a fine autumn afternoon Finlay had just come in from a brief foray on the moors when Janet called to him, ‘There’s a lady and gentleman to see
you. It’s such a fine afternoon they’re waiting outside in the porch.’

Finlay put down his gun and a brace of partridges then walked round to the porch. Immediately a young man stood up and held out his hand.

‘Forgive us for disturbing you at this hour, Dr Finlay. My wife was so anxious for us to visit you that we came directly to you from the station, before going on to my dear wife’s
home. The name’s Sinclair, by the way.’

Shading his eyes against the sun Finlay saw the young man to be well set up, handsome, quietly dressed in tweeds and wearing a university ‘blues’ tie. Sinclair? thought Finlay.
Suddenly the light struck.

‘You are Professor Sinclair’s son?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir. He sends his very best regards and remembrances to you. And this lady here, my dear wife, surely you know her?’

‘Bess! Bess Buchanan!’

‘Now Bess Sinclair, darling.’ And rising Bess planted a soft, warm kiss on Finlay’s cheek, whispering, ‘How much I owe you dear doctor. You must realise that when you
look at me. I am happy, so happy, and am at last truly and serenely in love!’

For a moment Finlay was too overcome to speak.

‘It’s the orphans who did it,’ he muttered, at last.

‘And weren’t you responsible for the orphans?’ countered Bess warmly.

This was too much for everyone. Even Janet, who had been listening at the door, went away cackling to the kitchen. At last Finlay said, ‘How good of you to come first to me, Bess. Will you
take tea here? Or would you like me to drive you home?’

‘Home, darling,’ said Bess.

Janet, watching from the window as they piled into the car, threw up her hands and wailed:

‘That’s Finlay for ye! After I’ve made him a lovely tea, wi’ the treacle scones he’s sae fond o’, he’s off like a flash and I’ll no’ see him
till his evening surgery. Ah weel! I canna waste such a lovely tea, I’ll just sit down in the kitchen, stir up the fire and eat it a’ masel’.’

Dr Cameron’s Appendix

Lovely autumnal weather was blessing Tannochbrae with blue skies and bright sunshine that warmed the crisp, cool air. Of course, the practice was always busy at this time of
year but, as he sat down to a good breakfast of porridge and sweet milk followed by grilled kippers and toast, Finlay felt that he might manage to get off to the moors with his new gun for an hour
in the early afternoon. As Janet brought in his second kipper he remarked pleasantly, ‘I’m surprised that Dr Cameron has not appeared for breakfast – he loves a morning like
this.’

‘No, Dr Finlay,’ Janet formally replied. ‘Our chief is not down yet. In plain truth I question if he will come down at all. When I took in his morning coffee and his shaving
water he was still in his bed, without a word, layin’ there prostitate.’

‘Prostrate, surely, dear Janet,’ Finlay corrected with a laugh.

‘It may amuse you, Dr Finlay. But if you had seen him, ye might have thought it was no laughing matter.’

Finlay was certainly not laughing at his chief’s indisposition, slight though it may be. He knew very well that Dr Cameron was essential to their joint practice; not only to take over a
fair portion of the work, but to lend his authority and support in all important and difficult decisions.

With this in mind, Finlay, having downed his second kipper, and third cup of coffee, hurried upstairs to his chief’s room, expecting to find him shaving, a lengthy and serious task with,
of course, the open blade.

Dr Cameron had risen from his bed, and though unwashed and unshaven, was trying to dress himself in his full professional attire. The will was obviously there, but when he saw Finlay, the worthy
old doctor staggered slightly, just saving himself from falling by a dramatic clutch at the big wooden end of his bed.

‘No, sir, you must not get up. Not under any circumstances.’ And supporting him with both arms Finlay laid him back again on the bed, studying him with an anxious eye.

‘I’m heart-sorry to bother you, dear Finlay, but I don’t feel quite up to the mark this morning.’

‘Do you have any pain, sir?’

‘Some twinges in the left lower abdomen.’

‘Let me have a look, sir.’ As Finlay gently passed his hand over the affected area his chief winced perceptibly. ‘Is there any stiffness there, lad?’

As Finlay gently touched it with the flat of his hand, the muscle stiffened and became tense.

‘It seems to me, sir, that your appendix is involved.’

The sufferer emitted a sigh that was half a groan.

‘That damned appendix of mine has been troubling me off and on for years.’

‘Surely you think it time for you to have it out, sir?’

‘What! At a time like this, the turn of the seasons, one of our busiest o’ the entire year?’

‘But sir, when your health is concerned . . .’

‘Do you think I would lie down now, give up at our busiest time o’ the year?’

‘But, sir . . .’

‘Leave you to carry the whole weight o’ the practice on your own back, with anything up to thirty cases to visit every day; and the surgery chock-full every morning and night, and
odd times o’ the day as weel! Never, Finlay. I’d see myself in my grave first.’

Ignoring this panegyric Finlay produced his thermometer and placed it between the good Dr Cameron’s lips. A minute later the patient himself withdrew it, gave a loud sigh of annoyance and
shook it down.

‘I’m not showing you this, lad, or you’ll have me laid up for a week.’

Finlay did not reply. He picked up his thermometer, wiped it with his handkerchief and replaced it in its case.

‘You are to stay in bed, sir, whether you wish it or not.’ He then withdrew the key from the inside of the door, passed through, and locked the door from the outside.

To Janet, who, of course, had been listening in the passage, he handed the key. ‘Janet dear, don’t let the good doctor up till I come in from my round. Give him only liquid and light
food. I’ll see him when I get back. Tell me, are there many in the surgery?’

‘It’s chock-full to the door, doctor. And there’s three mair calls has just come in from the Anderston Building. But listen to me, sir, ye’re not getting out of my sight
till ye’ve had a big strong cup o’ hot coffee and a piece o’ hot buttered toast. I’ve kept it warm . . .’

A faint tinkle from the sick room interrupted her. Her lips compressed slightly. ‘Ay, I thocht so! It will be runnin’ up and down for me a’ day. But he’ll have to wait
till I see you off first, warm and weel fed.’

Indeed, thus fortified, Finlay went into the teeming surgery and almost two hours later braved the chill, wet streets to begin his visits. At noon these were still uncompleted, but by putting
his back into the task, he was home by half past two. His first words to Janet were ‘How is our invalid?’

‘I’m going to see you eat your dinner first, sir. I’ve kept it a’ nice and hot for you.’

Chilled, tired and hungry, Finlay did not resist. Janet watched him with concern as he hungrily swallowed everything she put before him.

‘Feel better now, sir?’

‘Thanks to you, my own dear wee Janet, I feel more like myself.’

‘I was feared to tell you sir, until you had ate, sir, that three mair calls came in from that same Anderston Building.’

‘Damn! They’ve got a regular ’flu epidemic there! Well, never mind. How is our own patient?’

Janet’s lips drew tight together. ‘As snug and comfortable as my carrying out his orders can make him. He has a lovely fire in his room, fruit juice and fresh pears by him on his
bedside table, and he’s lyin’ back against his pillows readin’ this morning’s
Chronicle
where I noticed there’s a bit on the front page about hissel’!
“Our patrons will read with regret of the illness of our most worthy and beloved Dr Cameron. During his enforced absence his practice will be sustained by his young, active assistant
Dr
Findlater
.” ’

Grimly, between set teeth, Janet ground out the words, ‘How dae ye like
that
, Dr Finlay, sir? I’d swear by my own Bible I never in a’ my life kent such bluidy
insolence!’

‘It could just be a printer’s error, Janet.’

‘Printer’s error be damned. He wrote it out hissel’, put it in an envelope and last night, bid me take it tae the office o’ the
Chronicle
. If I had kenned whit it
was I’d have put it down the closet. For it’s a’ part o’ his plan to blow himself up and keep you down.’

Finlay managed a smile, but his jaw was set firm. After half the day in the pouring rain, in and out of the sick rooms of Anderston Buildings, this was the last straw.

‘Has the poor invalid asked for anything special?’

‘He wanted a hot clout, wrung out, just before ye came back and had me lay it on his belly. But when I went upstairs a minute later, it was flung on the floor.’

Finlay reflected deeper. ‘Janet! D’ye think all this is put on for our benefit?’

‘For his
ain
benefit, ye mean, sir. This is the second time in succession that he has brocht out his cursed appendix just at the busiest time o’ the year. Aye, and let you
slave your guts out while he lies cosy in bed wi’ all sorts of delicacies to his hand. Believe it or no, he wants me to run out for a jar o’ the best calf-foot’s jeely.’

As they left the dining-room together Finlay spoke firmly. ‘Dear Janet! If this is real appendix trouble he must have it out
immediately
. If it’s no’, I want to find out
exactly
what is the matter wi’ him
!’

‘He has it fixed in his heid, sir, that his appendix is the trouble. You’ll never shift him.’

‘Then we’ll shift his appendix!’

And Finlay went straight to the phone. Then, having closed the door of the cabinet, he rang an old professor, Mr Nicol,
MS
,
FRCS
, one of his
teachers at the Royal Infirmary of Glasgow. Not to anyone did Finlay divulge the nature of his conversation. Even Janet who listened hard outside, heard not a word of it.

But early that afternoon a beautiful shining ambulance, complete with uniformed driver, attendant and white-clad nurse seated beside a soft-blanketed couch, drew up at Arden House. Immediately
the attendant descended, bearing a portable stretcher, and accompanied by Finlay, entered the sick-room, guided perhaps by the invalid’s sonorous snores.

Three minutes later, borne on the litter by Finlay and the attendant, that same invalid was in the ambulance, tended by the nurse, with Finlay and the uniformed attendant on the outside seat
beside the driver. Then with a low Rolls-Roycean purr the ambulance sped off en route to Glasgow.

What the good doctor’s thoughts might be as he lay in comfort being driven he knew not where, only Dr Cameron could tell. Finally he murmured a single interrogation to the nurse. Whereat
she replied, ‘To the finest hospital in Scotland, sir. Where the best surgeon in Great Britain will examine and treat you.’

‘No operation I hope, dear nurse, I’m no’
that
bad.’

‘Do you feel able to undertake all your professional duties?’

‘Who kens, nurse. It a’ depends on how I feel the morns morn.’ There was a pause. ‘Ye ken, dear nurse. I’ve aye had a tendency to this appendix trouble in the
winter. Not a great deal o’ pain in the stomach, mind ye, I can aye eat well, but nae strength at all, ye ken, nae incentive to work at a’.’

‘Weel, try and get a wee sleep now. I’ll wake ye when we’re at the Royal.’

Although he did not sleep, the good doctor was silent until they drew up at the huge hospital.

‘Tell Finlay to bide with me,’ he exclaimed as he was borne into the intimidating recesses of the giant infirmary. Once he was safely in a side room on the surgery floor Finlay left
him and sought out Professor Nicol, who welcomed him warmly, then listened intently as Finlay described Dr Cameron’s symptoms.

‘And all this comes on exactly when the work in your practice is at its heaviest and hardest?’

‘Aye. I’ve scarce had a moment to myself all day.’

‘Ye’ve not examined him?’

‘No, sir! He’ll submit only to an expert.’

‘Well!’ said Professor Nicol grimly. ‘Bring him in right away.’

In a few moments the patient was wheeled in, completely stripped and covered with a sheet.

‘Greetings, fraternal greetings, Dr Cameron. How are you feeling now?’

‘Verra weel indeed, professor. In fact absolutely perfect.’

‘Ready to start work in your practice this very minute?’

‘That, professor, with a’ the good will in the world, I could scarcely guarantee it. Ye see, it’s this business of my appendix.’

‘Ah, what a pity, dear doctor. It pains you?’

‘It’s not exactly a pain, professor, sir, it’s a kind of a sort of
weakness
!’

‘I understand perfectly, dear doctor. Now perhaps you will permit me to examine you.’

‘That’s exactly why I am here, sir.’

Quickly, Professor Nicol removed part of the sheet and studied the left region. Then, gently, he placed his hand on the affected part. Immediately the patient stiffened his muscles till his
lower abdomen was hard as a brick.

‘Exactly as I feared,’ said the professor. Then turning to his smile. ‘A clear, cut-and-dried case of psychotic phobia centred immediately.’

‘Dear heaven, professor! Ye’re not going to cut me open sae soon!’

Without deigning to reply, Professor Nicol watched the patient being trundled out, then turning to Finlay with a grim smile. ‘A clear, cut and dried, case of psychotic phobia centred on
the appendix. Didn’t you realise that yourself Finlay?’