Further Confessions of a GP

Army medical I

Lee was here for an army medical examination and looked very nervous. He was tall, but looked more like an oversized 15-year-old than an adult. The prospect of him becoming a soldier seemed ridiculous.

‘Are you gonna have to stick your finger up my arse?’ he stammered.

‘What? No, Lee. Why would I need to do that?’

‘’Cos my mates told me you ’ad to have that done before you could get in the army.’

‘They were winding you up, Lee. Although I can’t vouch for what they do to you at military training college.’

Lee broke out into a broad smile, clearly very relieved by the fact that my finger and his anus would be remaining unacquainted.

‘So you’re terrified of the prospect of having a rectal exam from a doctor, but not scared of being blown up by a Taliban bomb in Afghanistan?’

‘I’ll be all right, sir.’

‘I’m not your teacher, Lee; you don’t have to call me sir.’

‘Oh right, yeah, sorry, Doctor.’

It felt like child abuse agreeing to let this 18-year-old boy go to war. My job was just to fill in a form declaring any previous medical history that the army might want to know about. Nobody really cared about my opinion on the war and the effect it might have on this poor boy.

‘Lee, are you sure you want to join the army?’

‘Yes, sir, I want to serve my country,’ he said proudly.

‘But do you really know what could happen out there. Do you even know what they’re fighting about?’

‘It’s about 9/11 and what Osama bin Laden did and that… and my mum says that joining the army will keep me out of trouble.’

That seemed a fairly stark reflection of life in modern Britain. Lee’s mum clearly felt that going to Afghanistan would get him into less ‘trouble’ than letting him stay here and hang out on the local council estate.

I started scanning through his notes hoping to find some sort of ailment that might be picked up on by the army doctors who would review my report. A few childhood illnesses and some more recent weekend A&E visits were all that I could see. The previous month Lee had fractured his fifth metacarpal, a hand injury that is almost always caused by punching someone. The other injury four months earlier was a ‘periorbital haematoma’ (a black eye), again, most likely resulting from fighting.

Maybe Lee’s mum was right. Maybe the army would be the best thing for him. He is from a really rough part of town and he has minimal education, and no skills or qualifications, not to mention that there really aren’t many jobs going at the moment. His brother has been in a lot of trouble with the law and perhaps the army would stop Lee heading in the same direction.

‘You sure you don’t want me to say you’ve got flat feet or asthma or something? There must be something else you can do other than go into the army?’

‘No thanks, sir, I’ll be all right.’

I asked Lee to sign the form and with great concentration he wrote his name in a mixture of capital and small letters. His writing was that of a six-year-old and I could see why he didn’t feel able to go on to college.

Some doctors refuse to refer patients for abortions due to religious and moral objections. I could probably do the same for army medicals, but it would be a pointless gesture that would only put extra work onto the other doctors at the practice.

As I stamped the form, Lee beamed me a big smile.

‘You look really happy, Lee. You must be looking forward to joining up.’

‘What, oh yeah, I definitely am, Doctor, but mostly I’m just pleased you didn’t have to stick your finger up my arse.’