SHIP'S DOCTOR

Rotorua Morning Post, Volume 2, Issue 364, 27 October 1932, Page 3

SHIP'S DOCTOR

I NTEREST I NG FIGURE RESP ON SIBLE WORK NEEDED UNDER DIFFICULT CONDITIONS. FEW RESTFUL HOURS. He wears three gold stripes on his sleeve, with red between. You see himf on the deck of every liner; and' often, nowadays, in large freighters as well. Though he wears the uniform of a shipi's officer, he is not a sailor. After dinner he may b'e seen quiftly enjoying a whisky anth soda witli the purser in the smoking-foom, and ho dthers, except the captain, are pefmitted to do that. You khow him, of course — the seagoing surgeon, a much-discussed personality, who can never, like mates and engirieers, be called "a type." There is a grim story that a tough old master once sent for his surgeon and said: "Ships' surgeons, in my j experienee, are either old and drunk- i en, or young and in lompetent— and you seem to be an unliappy combination of the two." In those days, perhaps, there were not so many exceptions to that sweeping attack as there are now. The fact is that in large passenger liners to-day there are not many inefficients left. The doubtful reputation of the ship's surgeon was gained year ago, when medical equipmient at sea was so inadeqiiate, and '"hospital" accommodation so poor, that delicate woriv could ( only b,e done in an einergency. Even to-day the surgeon who carried nothing but the drugs and instruments required by law would find himself seriously handicapped. The clsverest surgeon on shore would hestitate to attempt deliberate major surgery v/ithout the aid of a skilled anaesthetist and trained nurses. No wonder the ship's surgeon is often blanied for the loss of a patient whose life might have been saved in the ideal surrounding of a shore hospital Lashed to Table. Yet operations are carried out at sea — brilliant pieces of work when you think of the conditions. In an improvised theatre — a spaee on deck sheltered by canvas screens — the surgeon has lashed hmiself to the table and made his incisions with the ship steaming slowly ahead intq a violent gale. The odds are against him; but many an urgent operation for appendicitis has been successful. Fame and fortune dc{ not come to the ship's surgeon. Those who make the sea a career earn salaries of from £25 to £40 a month. Some companies allow them to charge fees; others lay down that fees may be accepted only when offered — an essential difference. The crew, of course, reeeive free me- ' dical attention. Watch tha surgeon at work in his little sea surgery. Here is a scalded fireman — obviously a genuine case. The stokehold of coal-burning ships — now slowly vanishing from the seas — providd many injuries and illnesses. Fireman's cramp, blistered hands, heat apopdexy, scorched limbs, all these cases come up for treatment. Lucky indeed is the ship which emerges from the exhausting heat of the Red Sea without a casualty in the stokehold. In giving out his prescriptions, the surgeon must bear In mind not only personal idiosynerasies, but racial likes and dislikes. Negro seamen will come again and again for a sweet medicine. Brandy is given out sparingly, for a sailor's ingenuity will rise to great heights when there is a drink in the offing. According to an old sea custom, the brandy bottle in the surgery is labelkd "Poison." Treating Epidemics. More than anything else, the ship's surgeon dreads an epdiemie on the high seas. Apart from the extra work and anxiety , an outbreak of measles, small-pox or influenza maj^ m ^an a great loss to the shipping company if the vessel is delayed in quarantine. Isolation wards must be improvised, "contacts" ferreted out and set apart. Som'etimes, when thn*e are few patients, a lifeDoat is used as a tempo- 1 rary hospital. Then there are those mysterious illnesses which are traced to tainted food and water; fortunately becoming rara in the well-equipped liners of to-day.