Speculum : The Journal of the Melbourne Medical Students' Society ...

THE SPECULUM.67,:'I realized some days after the event described that parturition is a physiologicalprocess. The fact comes home hard—it is not pathological. One becomesso impressed with the learned doctors, the hospital treatment, the instruments,the ergot, and the antisepsis, that it is only later one realises that one has beenwatching—not a stage in the course of some peculiar and painful disease—buta natural event which antedates humanity itself, let alone surgery. One istempted to wonder how long it will be before defiecation and micturition comeunder the immediate supervision of the practitioner.The student at hospital forms an early and fairly extensive acquaintance withbirth and death; and he soon reaches a state of indifference, or, rather, impersonality,as far as they are concerned. One fact that has always impressed myunworthy self is that, whereas the methods and means of quitting this vale oftears are legion—their names and evil omen being written in many great volumes—the path of entry is unduplicated. It is, moreover, narrow, with many anawkward twist and curve between the traveller and daylight. I heard a fellowstudent remark once, when a craniotomy became necessary : "There, but forthe grace of God—God !" A sober and seemly thought.Being born admits one to membership of the society of humanity. Thereis only one rule of entry, and that was made a sine qua non by our Founder manyyears ago. It implies that any new member can be admitted only by the jointcollaboration and approval of two existing members of the society. Moreover,these must go to a deal of trouble and pains about the matter. This, I presume,vouches for their disinterested motives.ROMA.AT THE PLAY.I weep at the playWhen the villain pursues the fair maid,Or honour is lost or betrayed,I weep at the play.At life's mighty heart-breaks I standDry-eyed, nerves stretching like tightening bands,Teeth shut, muscles set, with interlocked hands,And breath that comes gasping.Death, love, loss and failure,Small cares that are petty and rasping,All find me defiant, at bay.Yet I weep at the play.From The Argosy, 1926.cA little nurse at one of the Brisbane maternity hospitals was off duty till midnightand spending the flying hours with her "boy." "Heavens!" she said, glancing at herwatch, "it's five to twelve—whatever shall I do ?" The young man promptly hailed ataxi. "To the — Maternity Hospital as quick as you can," he directed, and startedto bundle the lady inside. But the driver didn't want that sort of fare, and firmly kepta grip on the handle of the door. "No, Missis, not in my car!" he objected gruffly.