Appendicitis - or was it?

In 1946, I was a thin, sickly child, more so than could be solely attributed to the wartime diet. Before the war had ended, I had measles, mumps and chicken pox one after the other in quick succession, as did most of the children at St James’ School. The same was happening in all the other junior schools in Wakefield, so nothing unusual there. None of the adults seemed in the least surprised by this epidemic - apparently it occurred every year or so. A child getting any of those three highly infectious illnesses kept going to school just long enough to infect the rest of the pupils before being allowed to stay at home in bed and suffer alone. It was thought better for children to have those three ailments when they were very young. I seem to remember it was copious applications of calamine ointment for the chicken pox spots and hot poultices wrapped in towels and fixed around the top of the head and underneath the jaw for mumps. I can’t remember any specific palliative for measles.  I know we used to inspect each other for spots on the face and chest and for suspicious lumps under the jaw. Of course in our ignorance we were looking forward to the two or three weeks at home in quarantine with each one because we didn’t know how unpleasant the symptoms would be when we got them.

In addition to those three childhood illnesses, I had frequent colds, aches and pains, and generally felt unwell for a lot of the time. I spent hours lying in my underpants under a sun-ray lamp at the local children’s clinic in Margaret Street. Eventually, some time in 1946, when I had been suffering acute but intermittent pain in the right hand side of my abdomen for several days running, I was referred to Clayton Hospital in Wakefield.

The very next day Dad and I went to the Clayton Hospital Out Patients department at 11am. There was no waiting. Dad was told to remain in the waiting room while a nurse led me off down several corridors and into a small cubicle. A grown up man was already in  there getting dressed.

"All right, Tony," said the nurse, in a matter-of-fact voice, "get undressed, all your clothes off please, put them on this chair and then lie on this couch and pull this sheet over you. The doctor will be along shortly."

I remember that conversation as though it happened yesterday. I took my time undressing, waiting for the man to finish and leave the cubicle. I was shy about undressing in front of other people. When he'd gone, I quickly took off the rest of my clothes, piled them on the chair and climbed onto the couch. I pulled the right sheet up against my chin leaving my feet poking out at the other end.

Eventually the nurse came back with a doctor. The nurse told to lie on my left side and draw my knees up as far as they would go. She then pulled the sheet back! I was horrified to be subjected to a DRE (if you don’t know what a DRE is, don’t ask!). I found it both painful and humiliating, especially as the doctor never explained to me why he was doing what he was doing. Even worse, the nurse remained in attendance – I was old enough then to be embarrassed at being naked in front of a woman. The doctor never said a single word to me. When he’d finished, he whipped off his rubber gloves and disappeared.

The nurse waited while I dressed and then she took me back to the waiting room. Dad asked me what the doctor had done and said. I couldn’t bring myself to describe what had happened so I just said that the doctor had looked at me and pressed my stomach. Dad didn't seem totally convinced of my honesty. However, I didn't have to go into any further detail because the doctor returned and talked to dad outside my hearing. After a few minutes they both turned and looked at me seriously. The doctor announced that I had appendicitis and needed to be admitted immediately.

It was then about midday. 

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