- Email: [email protected]
Sarom Nous
DISSECTING ROOM
LIFELINE Sarom Nous Between 1994 and 1999, Sarom Nous was chief of surgery and deputy director of Kandalstung Hospital, Cambodia. He is now chief of surgery at a clinic run by ROSE (Rehabilitation Orientated Surgical Enablement)— an international non-governmental organisation—in Kien Khlang, Cambodia. The clinic specialises in craniofacial surgery and stump revisions for landmine amputees. Who was your most influential teacher, and why? My father. His encouragement continues to inspire me. What would be your advice to a newly qualified doctor? Always make more than one attempt at diagnosis, and don’t assume that your first diagnosis is the correct one. What is your greatest regret? I married far too young, at just 23 years of age. Do you believe there is an afterlife? No, it is not something that has a place in my world view. What is your greatest fear? The consequences of the mistakes I make. What is your worst habit? I make snap decisions without taking the time to properly think them through. Do you believe in capital punishment? Yes I do. What is your favourite country? Cambodia—for its beauty and many challenges. What do you think is the most exciting field of science at the moment? Information systems in health care. What part of your work gives you the most pleasure? I enjoy the travel that sometimes comes with the job. If you had not entered your current profession, what would you have liked to do? I probably would have become a lawyer. What is the least enjoyable part of your job? Making sure that I am always on time for every person who is scheduled for an operation. Do you believe in monogamy? No, it is not for me.
1166
Don’t say “it’s only a game” have a confession to make. I’m getting fed up with football. It is not that I don’t enjoy watching a skilful game, and I have never been part of the “eleven stupid men chasing a ball” brigade. The difficulty these days is that you have to have absurd amounts of knowledge about the technical aspect before you can have a chat about a game and, even worse, you have to be passionate about your own team to the exclusion of all others. That’s why I am not allowed to go to matches any more. My family has two season tickets for a certain North London premiership club, which means that we are surrounded by the same faces every week, year in, year out. Early on, I showed my appreciation of a very skilful goal scored by the visitors and nearly got ejected by my neighbours. Apparently, my behaviour was so shameful that my son had to keep his head down for months after the incident and could not look the neighbours in the face until the next season. My clinic is in the catchment area of a rival team and I have the usual complement of die hard fans on my list. Once, I made the mistake of mentioning that I supported a different team, and had to endure looks of incomprehension, derision, and even hostility from some. After that, the main problem was their expectation that I would have a lot of technical knowledge about the game, or is it just the jargon that I lack. “Your problem is that you was defending too deeply . . . you wasn’t holding the ball up enough . . . you let them get you on the break . . . you was caught offside”. What are they talking about? Maybe they feel the same when I talk about their medical problems, but I like to think that we have learned to use plain English when communicating to patients, unlike most football fans.
I
My other difficulty is that I am not passionate about the team. Some patients come to see me on a Monday morning with commiserations, and while I am trying to work out what has gone wrong in my life, they are explaining to me in incomprehensible terms, why my team lost. My family on the other hand takes it all very seriously. Weekends have to be planned round the football, and if games are moved from Saturday to Sunday (or Monday or Tuesday) to accommodate television schedules, then we have to change our plans accordingly. This is non-negotiable. I also have to check the score before they get home so that I can adopt the correct demeanour, either joyful in victory or outraged (at the unfairness of the referee) in defeat. The thing that I find really puzzling is that the first thing they do when they get home is to turn on the television to see the match all over again. What is the point of spending all that money on season tickets and the associated costs of going to live matches, if you then come home and watch the highlights on the small screen. However, I now realise that wherever you sit in the stadium, you can’t see the match nearly as well as you can on television. When I asked about a recent incident in which two players were sent off, my son told me that he didn’t see what happened, but his friend who was watching at home, sent him text messages so he would know what was going on. So, as a fairly ignorant and nonfanatical fan, I can only say two things about football with any confidence. One is that it is better to watch it on television, and the other is that, whatever happens you must never, ever say: it’s only a game. Peter Kandela
THE LANCET • Vol 359 • March 30, 2002 • www.thelancet.com
For personal use. Only reproduce with permission from The Lancet Publishing Group.
LIFELINE Sarom Nous Between 1994 and 1999, Sarom Nous was chief of surgery and deputy director of Kandalstung Hospital, Cambodia. He is now chief of surgery at a clinic run by ROSE (Rehabilitation Orientated Surgical Enablement)— an international non-governmental organisation—in Kien Khlang, Cambodia. The clinic specialises in craniofacial surgery and stump revisions for landmine amputees. Who was your most influential teacher, and why? My father. His encouragement continues to inspire me. What would be your advice to a newly qualified doctor? Always make more than one attempt at diagnosis, and don’t assume that your first diagnosis is the correct one. What is your greatest regret? I married far too young, at just 23 years of age. Do you believe there is an afterlife? No, it is not something that has a place in my world view. What is your greatest fear? The consequences of the mistakes I make. What is your worst habit? I make snap decisions without taking the time to properly think them through. Do you believe in capital punishment? Yes I do. What is your favourite country? Cambodia—for its beauty and many challenges. What do you think is the most exciting field of science at the moment? Information systems in health care. What part of your work gives you the most pleasure? I enjoy the travel that sometimes comes with the job. If you had not entered your current profession, what would you have liked to do? I probably would have become a lawyer. What is the least enjoyable part of your job? Making sure that I am always on time for every person who is scheduled for an operation. Do you believe in monogamy? No, it is not for me.
1166
Don’t say “it’s only a game” have a confession to make. I’m getting fed up with football. It is not that I don’t enjoy watching a skilful game, and I have never been part of the “eleven stupid men chasing a ball” brigade. The difficulty these days is that you have to have absurd amounts of knowledge about the technical aspect before you can have a chat about a game and, even worse, you have to be passionate about your own team to the exclusion of all others. That’s why I am not allowed to go to matches any more. My family has two season tickets for a certain North London premiership club, which means that we are surrounded by the same faces every week, year in, year out. Early on, I showed my appreciation of a very skilful goal scored by the visitors and nearly got ejected by my neighbours. Apparently, my behaviour was so shameful that my son had to keep his head down for months after the incident and could not look the neighbours in the face until the next season. My clinic is in the catchment area of a rival team and I have the usual complement of die hard fans on my list. Once, I made the mistake of mentioning that I supported a different team, and had to endure looks of incomprehension, derision, and even hostility from some. After that, the main problem was their expectation that I would have a lot of technical knowledge about the game, or is it just the jargon that I lack. “Your problem is that you was defending too deeply . . . you wasn’t holding the ball up enough . . . you let them get you on the break . . . you was caught offside”. What are they talking about? Maybe they feel the same when I talk about their medical problems, but I like to think that we have learned to use plain English when communicating to patients, unlike most football fans.
I
My other difficulty is that I am not passionate about the team. Some patients come to see me on a Monday morning with commiserations, and while I am trying to work out what has gone wrong in my life, they are explaining to me in incomprehensible terms, why my team lost. My family on the other hand takes it all very seriously. Weekends have to be planned round the football, and if games are moved from Saturday to Sunday (or Monday or Tuesday) to accommodate television schedules, then we have to change our plans accordingly. This is non-negotiable. I also have to check the score before they get home so that I can adopt the correct demeanour, either joyful in victory or outraged (at the unfairness of the referee) in defeat. The thing that I find really puzzling is that the first thing they do when they get home is to turn on the television to see the match all over again. What is the point of spending all that money on season tickets and the associated costs of going to live matches, if you then come home and watch the highlights on the small screen. However, I now realise that wherever you sit in the stadium, you can’t see the match nearly as well as you can on television. When I asked about a recent incident in which two players were sent off, my son told me that he didn’t see what happened, but his friend who was watching at home, sent him text messages so he would know what was going on. So, as a fairly ignorant and nonfanatical fan, I can only say two things about football with any confidence. One is that it is better to watch it on television, and the other is that, whatever happens you must never, ever say: it’s only a game. Peter Kandela
THE LANCET • Vol 359 • March 30, 2002 • www.thelancet.com
For personal use. Only reproduce with permission from The Lancet Publishing Group.