Open Writing

Computerised tomography. It sounds like some sort of electronic system for making graphics of male cats. No, it’s to do with CT scans of your body parts.

It’s rather nice having 120 photos of the contents of one’s skull, in a set of CT scans. The label’s a bit disturbing, though: CT Orbit With Or Without Brain. As the man said, when he had finished, ‘We’ve scanned your brain and there’s nothing there’. How reassuring.

You seem to collect these things, as you grow older. Wonderful conversation starters. ‘Would you like to see my snapshot album?’ and you can show visitors your lumbo sacral spine pelvic girdle. They won’t want to hear about the sciatica, but they’ll enjoy counting your vertebrae and admiring the sweeping curves of your pelvis.

Bones are much more interesting than boring old sinuses and fuzzy kidneys. A few action shots will provide added thrill — show them your duplex bi carotid ultrasound pictures. Wow!

Angiograms are even more exciting. It’s remarkable to see your own heart revolving, in full colour and three dimensions, on a computer monitor. And to watch the expert carefully isolating bits of your brain and the third cranial nerve. Alas, you don’t get prints to put in your family album. Your visitors don’t know what they’re missing. But you can cheer them up with a jolly discussion about the search for a brain tumour.

The people who diagnose these pictures are an interesting lot. It seems they can be identified by two general titles: radiologists and specialist physicians. Don’t hope for a warm welcome from the former. They tend to live in rooms away from the public eye. They’re shy. You can’t always expect a friendly ‘Hello’ or eye-to-eye contact from them.

On the other hand, a specialist physician will greet you, make you feel comfortable, and explain what’s going on. Mind you, not all physicians behave so civilly. You might find one or two on pedestals who need, and will receive, little lectures on ethics or communication.

Radiographers are a different species. They’re the ones who take the photos. They can be very kind and helpful. Years ago, a friend needed an x-ray of a part of the body which only the male of the species has. It flopped off the x-ray plate thing, and the young lady radiographer was very helpful in putting it back in position. He quite enjoyed the experience. His wife wasn’t too keen on him gleefully telling everyone about it.

An anxious patient needs to be calmed down before the rigmarole of a series of kidney x-rays. This is where Helen comes into the picture. She is the ultimate Calmer of worried clients. The friendly ‘Hello’, the sincere ‘How are you?’, and the warm ‘Are you comfortable?’ all help. Each step of the process, including the injection, is explained.

When you go again, perhaps a year later, for an x-ray of another part, Helen comes out to greet you, and you have a good old natter. The back-room radiologist might think she’s wasting valuable time. But she isn’t. She understands how people feel and she respects their intelligence.

Years later, you’re sitting in a pavement café. You’re enjoying a cup of coffee while doing the crossword puzzle in your head because you forgot to bring a pen. A cheerful voice calls out from among the crowd of shoppers. Someone is greeting you by name. You glance up. Good gracious, it’s Helen! She remembers you and joins you for a coffee and a chat.

Right, you guessed — it happened to me this morning. Her real name isn’t Helen, of course. I chose that name because it comes from a Greek word meaning ‘the bright one’. She’s a chatterer, a listener, a communicator. She loves life.

Things would be a lot easier if there were more Helens around, wouldn’t they?

© Copyright Brian Barratt