‘Yes sir,’ mumbled the student, all trace of youth
ful arrogance gone.
‘Is there a species barrier?’ asked a female stu
dent voice.
‘Good question Miss
‘…?’
said Bannerman.
‘Lindsay.’
‘Good question Miss Lindsay. Everyone thought
there was a barrier until
Mad cow disease
caught us on
the hop. Recent research suggests that the cattle got
it from eating foodstuffs containing Scrapie-infected
sheep brains.’
Then it’s not inconceivable that man could con
tract brain disease from eating infected animals?’
‘It’s not inconceivable, but there’s no evidence to
support such a view.’
‘At the moment,’ added the student.
‘At the moment,’ conceded Bannerman.
‘It could be that Creutzfeld Jakob Disease in man
is actually derived from eating infected meat?’
‘I repeat, there’s no evidence to support such
a view.’
‘But you would advocate a vegetarian lifestyle
anyway,’ said a student at the back.
There was general laughter and Bannerman joined
in. ‘I have no intention of becoming vegetarian,’
he said.
‘At the moment,’ added Miss Lindsay and there
was more laughter.
‘What about Alzheimer’s. Is it related to
slow
virus
disease?
‘There are distinct differences in pathology.’
‘
Is it known what causes Alzheimer’s?’
‘There is a genetic form of the disease but no clear
proof about the more common type apart from the suggestion of some chemical involvement.’
‘Aluminium?’
‘There is some published evidence about the
involvement of aluminium,’ agreed Bannerman.
‘Would it be true to say that research on dementia is woefully inadequate, Doctor?’ asked a confident
voice.
Bannerman looked at the student who held his
gaze from beneath a mop of red hair which clashed with the colours of his medical school scarf. There
was almost an air of insolence about him but
Bannerman had seen it too often before to be
upset by it. It was simply the holier-than-thou
righteousness of the young. ‘Yes I think it would,’
he said evenly.
‘Why?’ demanded the red-haired young man.
‘Every society has a limited amount it can spend on
research,’ said Bannerman. ‘Dementia is primarily
a disease of the old. There are enough diseases of
the young to occupy our resources. It’s as simple
as that.’
‘Personally I think it’s disgraceful,’ said the stu
dent.
Bannerman could feel that the sympathy of the
class was not with him. ‘Perhaps you should be reading social sciences, not medicine,’ he said.
‘Or politics,’ suggested another student voice to a
murmur of laughter.
‘Medicine is a practical business,’ said Bannerman.
‘You work with the resources you have and make
decisions accordingly. If you are faced with two
patients in kidney failure and you have only one
kidney machine it’s no good shouting about how
disgraceful it is. You have to decide which one lives
and which one doesn’t.’
Bannerman gave the class a moment to think about
what he had said before saying, ‘Perhaps the class would care to compare the pathology of the more common forms of dementia and we can discuss it next time.’
Bannerman returned to his office in the hospital
and lit a cigarette. His secretary, Olive Meldrum,
appeared a few moments later with strong, black coffee without being asked.
‘How did it go?’
‘Not bad,’ replied Bannerman. ‘Not bad at all. They’re quite a bright lot. Any messages?’
‘Stella phoned. She’s operating this afternoon but she still expects you for dinner at eight and would
you bring the wine?’
‘Did she
‘She said chicken,’ said Olive, anticipating the
question.
‘Anyone else?’
‘Dr Vernon asked that you call him if you have a
spare moment. That was all.’
Thanks Olive, get me Vernon would you?’
Olive closed the door behind her and a few
moments later the buzzer on Bannerman’s phone
announced his call.
‘Hello George, what can I do for you?’
After a few pleasantries Vernon got down to
business. ‘I’ve had a forty-seven-year-old man in
for treatment on his arm. He burned it badly in an accident with a kettle of boiling water.’
‘Not exactly my area of expertise,’ said Bannerman.
‘It’s not the burn I’m concerned about,’ said
Vernon. ‘I think he may have other problems.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘
I’ve noticed that in several conversations I’ve had
with him he appears to have forgotten what I said
to him only a few moments before. The first time I
thought nothing of it but it’s happened more than
once. Brain disease is your thing; I wondered if you
might take a look at him?’
‘Of course,’ said Bannerman, looking at his watch.
‘How about now?’
‘Absolutely,’ answered Vernon, saying that he
was obliged. He would meet Bannerman at ward
seventeen in five minutes.
Bannerman rinsed his mouth with the antiseptic
wash he kept by the basin in his office; he didn’t
want the patients to smell the cigarette smoke on his
breath. He put on a fresh white coat and started out
for the ward. The pathology lab was in the hospital’s
basement so his journey took him up two flights of
stairs and along a corridor which was busy with
lunch trolleys and nurses in transit between their
wards and the dining-hall. Vernon met him at the
entrance to ward seventeen; they entered together.
‘I rang Sister to say we were coming,’ said
Vernon.
As if on cue, a stout woman dressed in navy blue
with a white frilly cap on her grey hair emerged from
a door to their left and smiled at them. ‘Mr Green
is all ready for you,’ she said. ‘Nurse will screen
him off.’
Vernon and Bannerman were accompanied down
the ward by a student nurse who pulled green,
cotton screens round the patient’s bed, corralling
the three of them inside. The ward had a meal-time
smell, a mixture of food and antiseptic.
‘Mr Green, this is Doctor Bannerman. He would
like to ask you a few questions.’
The patient, a well-built man with a tanned face
and good teeth smiled and said, ‘What can I tell
you Doctor? My arm is coming along well thanks to
Doctor Vernon here and they tell me I’ll be getting
home soon.’
‘
I’m glad to hear it,’ said Bannerman. ‘What
happened exactly?’
The patient smiled and said, ‘You chaps are like
the police. You keep asking the same questions over
and over again.’
‘I hope that’s not from personal experience,’
smiled Bannerman.
‘Indeed it is,’ replied Green.
Bannerman was taken aback and Green noticed.
‘I’m a policeman Doctor, a sergeant in CID.’
‘Oh I see,’ said Bannerman with a smile. ‘I didn’t
know. So what happened?’
‘Happened?’ asked Green.
Bannerman noted that Green appeared to have
forgotten the original question and exchanged a
quick glance with Vernon who nodded. ‘Your acci
dent,’ said Bannerman.
‘It was just carelessness really. I grabbed at a kettle
thinking it was empty. I was going to fill it to make
some tea and it turned out to be full of boiling water.
It went all over my arm.’
‘Nasty,’ said Bannerman with a grimace. ‘Who else
was in the house at the time?’
‘Nobody,’ replied Green.
Bannerman looked at Green wondering whether
or not he would realize anything from his own reply
but he didn’t appear to. ‘What happened then?’
he asked.
‘
I tried to get my shirt off to hold my arm under
the cold tap for a bit but the pain was something
else. I could see the damage was pretty extensive
so I called the ambulance and waited.’
‘Did the ambulance take long to come?’
‘Eight minutes,’ replied Green. ‘I watched them
all pass on the clock.’
‘Do you know how long it took to get to the
hospital?’ asked Bannerman.
‘Ten minutes,’ replied Green. ‘It would have been
quicker but there was a big snarl-up of traffic in
Graham Road where they are laying new gas pipes.
We got held up there for a couple of minutes despite
the siren and flashing lights.’
‘What day is it today?’ asked Bannerman.
Green smiled as if he hadn’t heard properly but Bannerman’s expression assured him that he had.
‘Why it’s … it’s …’
‘Tuesday,’ said Bannerman, Tuesday the 23rd of
January.’
‘Of course,’ smiled Green. ‘I couldn’t think for
a moment there. That’s the trouble with being in
hospital, the days just come and go and they all
seem the same.’
Bannerman nodded sympathetically and said, ‘I
want you to start counting backwards from three
hundred taking away seven at a time.’
Green shrugged his shoulders and began. Three hundred, two hundred and ninety-three, two hun
dred and eighty-six, two hundred and seventy-nine,
two hundred and eighty-six, two hundred and eighty-six …’
That’s fine,’ said Bannerman.
‘How did I do?’ asked Green with a smile.
‘Just fine,’ said Bannerman. He looked to Vernon
and nodded.
Vernon thanked Green for his cooperation and he
and Bannerman left to walk back up the ward to
the ward duty-room while a nurse pulled back the
screens on Green’s bed.
‘What do you think?’ asked Vernon.
‘
I think you were right to be suspicious,’ said Bannerman. ‘He’s showing all the signs of early
Alzheimer’s.’
‘
I feared as much,’ said Vernon.
‘His long term memory is fine but short-term is
practically lost. I suspect that was the cause of his
accident. I think he put the kettle on to boil then
forgot that he’d done it. He went to do it again and
poured the scalding water over his arm. He said
there was no one else in the house. It must have
been him who boiled the kettle in the first place.’
‘He’s only in his forties,’ said Vernon shaking
his head.
‘He can only get worse,’ said Bannerman softly.
To all intents and purposes his useful life is over.’
‘He has a wife and two teenage sons; one of them
is a black kid they adopted when he was three.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s a God at all.’
‘I came to my own conclusion on that one some
time ago,’ said Bannerman without elaborating.
He said goodbye to Vernon and returned to the
Pathology Department.
Olive Meldrum had gone to lunch; the outer office was empty. Bannerman made himself some more
coffee and took it through to sit down at his desk and light up a cigarette. There would be no lunch for him
today he decided. The bathroom scales this morning
accused him of being twelve and a half stone and he
had not been able to offer any defence. The band
of thickening flesh round his middle, a legacy of
over-indulgence at Christmas, was conclusive and
could not be denied. Something had to be done.