Interns at the bedside

Elizabeth Bagshaw gained her medical degree in 1901. Her amazing story is sketched out in Wikipedia, but it merely scratches the surface. Suffice it to say that she was an enormous force for women in medicine and the liberalization of Canadian laws related to reproduction.

In 1970 when I did my internship in Hamilton General Hospital she was still a practicing family doctor, had just been recognized as “woman of the year” in Hamilton, and, at the age of 89, still had a small following of absolutely loyal patients. She did rounds regularly in the hospital and all the interns knew her and deferred to her. The 5' tall, little old lady who carried her stethoscope in her handbag was a familiar sight. Interns and residents – especially women – parted respectfully when she appeared.

But not everyone knew who she was. A new cardiology prof had recently arrived in Hamilton and we interns and residents had clustered around the bed of an elderly stroke patient, admitted during the night, waiting for the Fount of Wisdom to appear and enlighten us all. He wafted in and immediately started grilling us with questions.

To be clear, this man was an arsehole, from the vertical crack of his glutei maximi to the few remaining hair follicles receding on his scalp. He delighted in making himself look brilliant by making us all look like gormless idiots.

After verbally-skewering Maria, a bright and articulate intern from Mexico City, and Gerry, a conscientious objector and draft-dodger from the USA, he planted his stethoscope in his ears and bent down to listen to the heart of the unconscious old man, who breathed stertoriously through lips circled by half an inch of stubble.

That was the moment when Elizabeth Bagshaw appeared at the foot of the bed, clasping her handbag in her hands. We all made way, nodding respectfully.

The great man noticed her out of the corner of his eye, and pulled the stethoscope from his ears.

“I'm sorry Madam. We are examining your husband right now. Would you kindly wait in the hall.”

It wasn't a question. It was an order. The professor placed the stethoscope back in his ears and continued to listen intently, ignoring everyone and everything, including Dr Bagshaw.

All of us around the bed were frozen in shock. The chief resident valiantly tried to get the Prof's attention, but was waved away. We all looked at Dr Bagshaw, who hadn't spoken and hadn't moved a muscle. That was when I noticed that in that elderly, wrinkled face were the clearest blue eyes I had ever seen. And they were resolutely fixed on our professor.

He eventually finished his examination and looked up. For the first time he realized that there was something amiss. The silence in the room was deadly. The only person who seemed to be breathing was the patient. The professor's expression changed from supreme confidence to mild confusion.

An icy voice spoke coldly from the foot of the bed. “I am not the patient's wife. I am his family doctor. I referred him to you.” The blue eyes bored into him like razors.”

It slowly dawned on him that he had made a terrible mistake. He began to apologize, but here is a funny thing about apologies: sometimes the more you apologize, the worse things become. And that was exactly what happened. The more he apologized the worse thing got. He began to stammer. He alologized again. Dr Bagshaw remained silent and motionless, blue eyes drilling into him. A pink flush of embarrassment began to spread over his face, slowly turning to crimson and then purple. He looked desperately around the bed for help. None came.

I was standing, horror-stricken, when I began to feel Gerry shake beside me. I sneaked a quick peek sideways and realized he was trying desperately not to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. I could see others on the opposite side of the bed shaking too, and Maria suddenly turned her back to the bed, not before I noticed a malicious little grin and some bubbles appear at her nose.

It was absolutely delicious. Dr Bagshaw could have rescued the hapless professor at any time, but she didn't. She let him dangle in the wind, spluttering and apologizing while she calmly stood with her handbag at the foot of the bed, in total control of the situation.

Dr Bagshaw died at the age of 101. She accumulated many awards and recognitions including the Order of Canada in the eleven years after this episode, but this is what I will always remember about her. She provided me with the most memorable and delicious moment of my career.