This blog is about the entrants in the year 1960, to the Faculty of Medicine, University of Ceylon, Colombo. The email address for communications is, 1960batch@gmail.com. Please BOOKMARK this page for easier access later.Photo is the entrance porch of the old General Hospital, Colombo, still in existence. Please use the search box below to look for your requirement.
THE COCKPIT OF THE AIRBUS A380...awesome !
Your Excellency, President of the Old Royalists Association, ladies and gentlemen:
As I am not much of an after-dinner speaker, when the President asked me, I offered to do the washing up instead. The President assured me that this was not one of my tasks; he had already enlisted my husband for that; he is not much of a washer-upper either. I asked your President how long I should speak for. “About five minutes would be adequate” he said. I said “with this mixed audience, it’s a little difficult to know where to begin”. He said, “begin on the fourth minute.”We are privileged to be here, in these grand surroundings, being wined and dined in style. But not as lucky as the man who won the lottery recently; he heard about the advances in modern transplant surgery, and decided he would benefit from a new brain. He went to see a specialist – finally saw him after the outpatient appointment had been cancelled seven times. The specialist said there were several brains in stock. Old-Josephian’s brain was £5000; old-Trinitians brain was £10,000; or you could have an old-Thomian brain for £20,000. “Doctor, I want the best” said the lottery winner. “You’re in luck” said the brain surgeon “We happen to have just one old-Royalist’s brain – a very special offer at £50,000.” The lottery winner was amazed. “Why is the old Royalist’s brain so expensive?” “Simple” said the specialist “it was hardly ever used.”
I understand that the old school provided the boys with facilities for all sport, but not golf. Although I don’t play golf, I happen to live near a golf Club. One morning, there was a tramp asleep on the doorway to the Clubhouse. He was smelling strongly of drink, his hair was matted, his eyes bloodshot. There were some empty bottles as testimony to his night’s work. A tired dog lay asleep at his feet. The Club Secretary arrived. And fearful of arriving golfers, nudged the tramp awake. “Disgraceful” he thundered through a clenched moustache, “what the hell do you think you’re doing here? This is private property, an exclusive Club with televised tournaments. I demand you leave at once.” The tramp rose, collected his clothing, moved slowly away from the Club Secretary; then turned and froze him with a glare, and said, “This is no way to attract new members.” My husband has now been accepted to be on the waiting list for membership.Tonight’s dinner has been very well organised; everything seemed to work like clockwork; the room and the tables look stunningly beautiful; the music as always is exhilarating; all of us are itching to get on the dance floor. We also wish to compliment the chef and the team for providing us with a wonderful meal. It is quite unlike another London Hotel, where a visitor was ordering his breakfast. He said he wanted two boiled eggs; one so hard it was like a bullet, the other scarcely cooked at all. He wanted three pieces of toast, each absolutely black on one side and not toasted at all on the other. And also some cold coffee. “Oh sir, we can’t possibly do that” said the astonished waiter. “Why not” said the visitor, “you did it yesterday.”My husband, an old Royalist, remembers of his schooldays, only that the school was next to the Racecourse. This has made a lasting impression on his life. The hospital where he works in Ascot is also next to a Racecourse. The bookies know him by name. As one of their best customers, he regularly receives expensive gifts from William Hill, Ladbrokes and Corals, in return for his continued and unwavering support. I got some insight into how he picks his losers. Last year, he lost £100 just on the Derby; he lost £25 on the race; then lost the other £75 on the action replay.The Royalists have been tremendous hosts. Like the American Indians outnumbering General Custer’s troops, we the guests have outnumbered our hosts. That is because the guests have always enjoyed the hospitality of the Old Royalists, and keep coming back to this most enjoyable function. As I conclude, I am reminded of the rather complacent businessman who, having delivered an after-dinner speech, turned to his neighbour (who happened to be Oscar Wilde) and said “Now tell me; how would you have given that speech?” Oscar replied “I think perhaps under an assumed name.”And like Lord Atkin, who was the fifth speaker after dinner, I have to admit that I have two speeches. A long one and a short one. I propose to give you both. The short one is “Thank you.” The long one is “Thank you very much.”
Guests: the toast is . . . . our hosts, the Old RoyalistsI said to Sunil that the best way to keep myself occupied in retirement is to have a baby; his shocked response was this story. With the help of fertility experts, a 65 year old woman had a baby. All her relatives came to see the newest member of their family. When they asked to see the baby, the new mother says “not yet”. A little later they ask again. Again the mother says “not yet”. Finally they say, “When can we see the baby?” And the mother says “When the baby cries”. “Why do we have to wait until the baby cries?” The new mother says “because I forgot where I put it”.
I don’t plan to grow old gracefully though:
If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model. I’ve got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish, and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that’s not the worst of it. My headlights are out of focus, and it’s especially hard to see things up close. My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and skid and bump into things, even in the best of weather. My tyres are stained with varicose veins. It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed. My fuel rate burns inefficiently. But here’s the worst of it – Almost every time I sneeze, cough or splutter – my radiator leaks. Well, I am not quite there yet. But with the help of my friends and colleagues, I hope to put all this right, until I look like a well-maintained vintage car.
I have enjoyed my time as a doctor and a radiologist. I never set out to be a radiologist. I wanted to be a rheumatologist. I went for my job interview at Reading, and was duly appointed Registrar in Rheumatology. My two prospective Consultants who had interviewed me got talking to Sunil who had accompanied me. Sunil was keen on a career in Paediatrics, and was doing general and neonatal paediatrics at the time, and was looking for a more senior post. Within a few moments of talking to Sunil, the senior consultant Ian Meanock came and asked me whether I minded stepping down to the SHO job, so that Sunil could be offered the Registrar post in Rheumatology. I didn’t think I had a choice in the matter, as the decision seemed to have been made already. Sunil then decided on a career in Rheumatology, and I was left with the task of finding any other speciality – and I ended up in Radiology. I had done my MRCP in preparation for a career in Rheumatology. So when I switched to Radiology, I had to start at the bottom of the ladder again. This was not nice. So, after a shaky start, I began to enjoy radiology.
It can’t be such a difficult speciality to master. Once I had to take my 6 year old son to work with me for a few hours. I took him to my room and gave him a few books, and asked him to keep quiet and read, while I did some reporting. A little while later, I left the room for a few minutes, came back and saw him using my dictaphone, saying, “Heart size normal, lung fields clear. Heart size normal, lung fields clear. Heart size normal, lung fields clear”.
I started here as a Consultant in 1975 and have enjoyed every minute - well, may not be every minute, of my working life. I am sure all of us have moments of frustration; but all in all, work was always a great pleasure.
I have relished my career as a radiologist. I have eaten up every ounce of information that came my way, and dealt out as much compassion as I could, even if I didn’t always feel like it. I have tried to maintain a balance in my life, and hold on to my sanity. You would have to judge if I succeeded or not.
We have made many and close friendships among Consultants, other hospital staff, and GPs. I thank you for the years of companionship and support you have given me.
Bringing up two wonderful sons has perhaps been my best achievement, but I must let you know what they think about this. One day I walked into the sitting room and found it terribly messy, and started telling them off. One of them immediately said to me, “It’s not our fault mummy, we have been badly brought up”.
As you probably know we are working part-time at the moment so that we can wean our body and soul to full retirement. Though it’s been a wonderful 30 years I am also looking forward to doing as I please in full retirement, and not necessarily living by the clock all the time.
The next stage may be a nursing home, but I found an alternative! No nursing home for me. I am checking in to the Holiday Inn. With the average cost of a nursing home reaching £100 per day, there is a better way when we get old and feeble. I have already checked on reservations at the Holiday Inn. For a combined long-stay discount and a senior’s discount it is £53 per night. That leaves £47 a day for: Lunch and dinner at any restaurant I want, or room service, laundry, gratuities and special TV films. They provide a free swimming pool, and a gym. Most have free toothpaste (though I may not have teeth by then), and all have free shampoo and soap.
TV broken? Light bulbs need changing? Need a mattress replaced, maybe often? No problem. They fix everything, and apologise for the inconvenience. They treat you like a customer, not a patient. £3 worth of tips a day will have the entire staff scrambling to help you. There is a bus stop out front, and OAPs travel free. The disabled bus will also pick you up, if you fake a decent limp. To meet other nice people, call a church bus on Sundays. For a change of scenery, take the airport shuttle bus, and eat at one of the nice restaurants there. While you are at the airport, fly somewhere; otherwise, the cash keeps building up. It takes months to get into a decent nursing home. Holiday Inn will take your reservation today. And you are not stuck in one place forever; you can move from Inn to Inn, or even from City to City. They have a night security person, and daily room service. The maid checks if you are OK. If not, they call an ambulance or the undertaker.
Before I reach the nursing home stage, there are a few things I wish to have:
Before I go, I’d like to have high cheekbones, and
be thought of as thin
And I’d like to learn to tap-dance, salsa and spin
When I enter a room, I’d like an orchestra and
choir to sing
Before I go, I’d like Robert Redford, just once, to
slide his fingers down my back, from my
neck to my waistline
But I’d like to have a waistline before I go
I’d like, when offered a choice between duty and
sin, to not immediately choose duty
But I’d like a couple of offers before I go
