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MAGAZINE EDITION

Chris Johnstone Intro.
Academic General Practice and Primary Care in Scotland
Mayhem Clock and Anti
The Complementary Garage
EPASS goes live!
Its your MLG
Changes to Postgraduate Training
Take Control
Did You Know??
Smoking in Public Places
Who Are We Kidding on Confidentiality
The Body in the Library - Review
Smoking out the Irish Question
Swimming in De Nile
Glasgow Gals - Sex Alcohol and Religion

CONTRIBUTORS

Chris Johnstone
Graham Watt
Hamish Maclaren
Peter Murchie
Pete Davies
Suhayl Saadi
Blair Smith
Swimming in De Nile
Patrick Trust

About The Contributors

RCGP Bookstore
hoolet 51-Spring 2007
hoolet 50-Winter 2006
hoolet 49-Summer 2006
hoolet 48-Spring 2006
hoolet 47-Winter 2005
hoolet 46-Autumn 2005
hool8 45-Summer 2005
hoolet 44-Spring 2005
hoolet 43-Winter 2004
hoolet 42-Autumn 2004
hoolet 41-Summer 2004
hoolet 40-Spring 2004
hoolet 39-Winter 2003
hoolet 38-Autumn 2003
hoolet 37-Summer 2003
hoolet 36-Spring 2003
hoolet 35-Winter 2002
hoolet 34-Autumn 2002
hoolet 33-Spring 2002
hoolet 32-Winter 2001
hoolet 31-Autumn 2001
hoolet 30-Summer 2001
hoolet 29-Spring 2001
hoolet 28-Winter 2000
hoolet 27-Autumn 2000
hoolet 26-Summer 2000
hoolet 25-Spring 2000
hoolet 24-Winter 1999
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MAYHEM, CLOCK AND ANTI

By Hamish Maclaren
Contact the author by e-mail at christopher.johnstone@ntlworld.com

‘At the accident scene, casualties were treated for shock before being allowed home.’
BBC radio travel report

Of course, they weren’t treated for shock at all. Shock, as every reader of hoolet knows, is a catastrophic collapse of the circulation leading eventually to irreversible anoxic cell damage. I was going to suggest that these people wandering around the scene wearing blankets and looking dazed have a kind of acute post-traumatic stress disorder, but I would hesitate to call this natural response to a bad experience a disorder at all. And if it’s not a disorder, why treat it? And what treatment would you choose? Sweet tea? Valium? “Counselling”?

Still, I have to say that the misuse of the word “shock” is the part of the BBC travel report that I find least objectionable. The terminology of the sentence is so antiquated that it sounds like a description of a dressing station behind the front line at the Somme. In Britain, the terminology of Emergency Medicine is nearly a century out of date.

This is not true of the rest of the English-speaking world. I was privileged to work in the field of Emergency Medicine in New Zealand between 1986 and 1999, the period of the development and rapid expansion of the Australasian College for Emergency Medicine. I started in “Accident & Emergency” at Middlemore Hospital in Auckland. For the rest of the hospital we were “Casualty” and some people even referred to us as “Cas”.

There is no such thing as an accident. We changed the terminology, literally overnight. The signage came down. We became the “Emergency Department”. When we lifted the phone we no longer said “A & E”, but, rather, “ED”. We put a swear-box in the clerical area of the department, to which staff members were obliged to donate ten cents every time they used the “A-word”. We borrowed this idea from William Hadden, the father of injury prevention in the United States who realised that trauma was never accidental, but a pathological entity with an aetiology, vulnerable to epidemiological analysis and, ultimately, prevention. The expression “RTA”, road traffic accident, was replaced by “RTC”, road traffic crash.

What was so gratifying about this exercise was the rapidity with which these ideas, initially greeted with scepticism and ridicule, were taken on board. To hear a paramedic talk about an “RTC”, or to have the hospital switchboard direct a call through to the “ED” was, actually, thrilling.

“Casualty” is the most detestable word in the Emergency Medicine lexicon. Reference to Chambers is salutary:‘
casual adj. accidental: unforeseen: occasional: off-hand: negligent... casualty... an accident: a misfortune: loss by wounds, death, desertion etc... casualty department... a hospital department, ward, in which accidents are treated; casual ward formerly, a workhouse department for labourers, paupers, etc.’

And yet, in this country, you hear clinicians, administrators, and politicians who occupy positions of influence in the realm of acute care using the word “casualty” to denote both an injured patient, and the facility in which the patient is being initially assessed and treated. Does it matter? Yes, it does. It matters that the lay public imagine that “shock” and “trauma” are states of mind, like angst. You might as well believe that disease is a kind of possession by evil spirits. But it matters even more that clinicians insist on hard-wiring into the language the notion that, for example, the 10 deaths and the 300 episodes of major trauma occurring on UK roads each day are inevitable. If you truly think the insult that befell your patient was a bolt from the blue you will never attenuate it for you will never predict it. If you truly think your patient is a pauper he will doubtless remain such. If the department in which he is seen resembles a Dickensian workhouse then its facilities and available expertise are liable to be of similar vintage.

So... four expressions to expunge from your vocabulary: Cas, Casualty, Accident, A & E

Tell your colleagues!

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Hoolet 51 front cover - Spring 2007 Hoolet 50 front cover - Winter 2006 Hoolet 49 front cover - Summer 2006 Hoolet 48 front cover - Spring 2006 Hoolet 47 front cover - Winter 2005 Hoolet 46 front cover - Autumn 2005 Hoolet 45 front cover - Summer 2005 Hoolet 44 front cover - Spring 2005 Hoolet 43 front cover - Winter 2004 Hoolet 42 front cover - Autumn 2004 Hoolet 41 front cover - Summer 2004 Hoolet 40 front cover - Spring 2004 Hoolet 39 front cover - Winter 2003 Hoolet 38 front cover - Autumn 2003 Hoolet 37 front cover - Summer 2003 Hoolet 36 front cover - Spring 2003 Hoolet 35 front cover - Winter 2002 Hoolet 34 front cover - Summer 2002 Hoolet 33 front cover - Spring 2002 Hoolet 32 front cover - Winter 2001 Hoolet 31 front cover - Autumn 2001 Hoolet 30 front cover - Summer 2001 Hoolet 29 front cover - Spring 2001 Hoolet 28 front cover - Winter 2000 Hoolet 27 front cover - Autumn 2000 Hoolet 26 front cover - Summer 2000 Hoolet 25 front cover - Spring 2000 Hoolet 24 front cover - Winter 1999