Taming The Beast

I recently decided to have a look at my mate's blog (www.thelostdoctor.blogspot.com) as a kind of substitute for actually meeting up with him since we haven't quite managed to get round to doing that in a while. I have to admit it was an interesting experience. Though I'm quite sure that he's well aware he is writing for an audience and that, as a consequence, his entries must be forged to provide at least a modicum of entertainment, there is still that undeniable leitmotif of dissatisfaction that runs through all that he writes. I know that this at least is authentic because he has spoken about it before when we have actually managed to meet up for a pint and it would genuinely seem to bother the lad. What I sometimes wonder, though, is does he really have the right to so acute a sense of tedium vitae at so young an age?

Leaving aside the job - which admittedly seems to be most of the problem - The Lost Doctor's life is no disaster. He's a well-liked, well-off Essex-lad-done-good with a top-notch bird and well-oiled brain. Let's be fair: he's not really holding a hand full of jokers now, is he? So, why so glum? Well, seemingly because the realisation has dawned that the beast that is Medicine is a genetically-enhanced, soul-destroying machine that would gobble up all your spare time, chew up your life and spit you out at the other side with nothing to show for it but an surreptitious addiction to alcohol, a bitter divorce or two and, if you were lucky enough to have the spare time in the first place, some kids who don't know who you are and are long past caring. Not the brightest picture, admittedly. But the fact of the matter is that medicine is but a job and I don't think that The Lost Doctor is the type to get caught up in the scenario above. That is the fate for people who are consumed by the idea of medicine, only to find it is Medicine that ultimately consumes them. Those whose life outside of Medicine withers to a pitiful appendage on an existence spent in the pursuit of power within it. Those whose idea of some quality social interaction consists of exchanging their latest Venflon story over a half of diet coke before scurrying off to brush up on renal tubular acidosis. They are the people who look back and think: what a waste! The Lost Doctor is not of their ilk; he will survive. If only he semmed to realise is that he is not yet shackled to the beast. If he hates medicine so much (which I don't believe he does), then he need only leave it - he is bright enough and young enough that most of the doors are still open to him. Alternatively, if he feels Medicine is already beginning to finger his hole, then why not just recentre his life outside of it - learn something new and interesting - and force the beast back into its place before it rapes him completely.