Dr Peter Comfort

It is 1954, my first year as a medical student, and I am frantically struggling to cope with a reality that is radically different from being just a schoolboy. In fact, 'medical student' is a misnomer for a first-year. Medical school is still a daunting year away, densely packed with Physics, Chemistry, and other Basic Science subjects far from what I wanted to learn as an aspiring Doctor. How wrong I was!

Excelling in that first year was a requirement, upon which a hoped-for future career in medicine depended. Greater numbers were admitted to the first year of study than medical school could accommodate for the second year, creating a challenging and competitive environment that we all hated.

The 'Great Hall' at Wits University was a chaos of 600 students from many faculties, for lectures in Physics and Chemistry. The Professor, who could not be heard due to the din, had his back to the students, scribbling arcane formulae on a blackboard that was too far away to see. No questions or explanations were possible.

Wits Great Hall (The Heritage Portal)

The din was mostly the Engineers fighting with Geologists, Surveyors and whoever else. Somebody blowing a bugle, a tall ashtray clattering repeatedly down the steep isle steps, flying paper aeroplanes and..and... 

Unlike school, the 'teacher' just carried on regardless. Not a good start towards my cherished goals.

I soon discovered that my life no longer belonged...

In 1967 I was one of the Surgical Chiefs at the Frere Hospital in East London, a 1000 bed State General Hospital very well managed with top class Professional Medical and Nursing standards. My appointment was on a part time Consultant basis. Unfortunately, the remuneration for part timers was very low at that time, so I was compelled to open a private Practice in order to make ends meet. The work load was brutally high, so I got partners in to help.

In the 1960’s in South Africa, Doctors were required to have separate waiting rooms with separate entrances. This I refused to do, so from day one it was one set of rooms and one service for all. This attracted some criticism from colleagues and officialdom but nothing serious happened.

To get on with my story, in 1973 a police Captain came to see me as a patient. On investigation he had Cancer of the stomach. I had to do a very extensive gastric (Stomach) resection to remove it. Post operatively Capt. Venter (not his real name) did extremely well. I continued to see him for regular follow-ups for years so we got to know one another quite well. He regained his former health so quickly that I began to question the pathologist’s diagnosis. Stomach cancer is one of the nastier malignancies yet he recovered faster and better than expected. A repeat scrutiny of the Histology (tissue slides examined under high power microscopy) confirmed the diagnosis was correct.

1977 was...

Coronationville in 1963 was a Government designated, predominantly 'Coloured' area of Johannesburg. At the time I was the Registrar in Surgery at the Coronation Hospital - part of the Wits Medical Training Circuit.

Coronationville Hospital, like all Hospitals in South Africa, experienced high patient loads. At that time there was top class teaching supervision by experienced senior surgeons, making it an ideal place to learn and grow as a budding Surgeon.

This night, I had gone home exhausted and tried to grab some sleep. I was awakened by an urgent call from my House Surgeon (A first-year Intern, working under me) to tell me to get in quickly. There had been a shooting and things were looking 'very bad'.

I arrived at the hospital to find it surrounded by Police and bright flashing lights. A Police Helicopter hovered nearby. I was stopped by an armed Police Officer at the entrance. He hauled me out and had me searched. After protesting that I was the surgeon on-call he reluctantly allowed me in but ordered two of his men to 'stick to me like glue.' They certainly made a good job of that!

My HS took me to the patient. He was in Shock from pain and blood loss following a gunshot wound in the back. He had been shot from close range, apparently while trying to escape from Police Custody. The bullet had entered near the left Kidney area. The Abdomen was 'Rigid' to palpation - an indication of abdominal cavity...

In July 1964 an International Congress of Surgeons was held at the Wits Medical School in Johannesburg. It was well attended by Surgeons from all over the world including South Africa.

At the time, I was a Registrar (a Surgeon in training and studying for a higher qualification) working in the Professorial Unit of the Johannesburg General Hospital just across the road from the Conference. It was a late Friday afternoon – July 24th 1964.

As workers were making their way home at rush hour, a huge explosion occurred in the main concourse of the Johannesburg Railway Station. A large number of seriously injured people were rushed to the Trauma unit and I was called in to help.

The message quickly reached the Conference which was immediately suspended. Many of the Surgeons attending the Conference hurried across. We had the most unusual and fortunate experience of a plentiful supply of top Surgeons, some with war experience. They assisted us in the Emergency Room, doing Triage and some even pitched in, operating in theatre with us.

The unplanned arrival of large numbers of injured people (28 in this case) can overwhelm hospital staff and would have if not for the extra help. Disaster Plans and the Science of Triage (the selection and treating patients in order of urgency) were as yet not formalised but are vital for mass casualty management. Nevertheless, the team did well.

After helping with immediate resuscitation and stabilising the more seriously injured, I went to assist those...

Having graduated with the double Bachelor's degree MB Bch in 1959 after 6 years of study, I was now a brand-new Doctor.

The Medical training program at the time called for 2 more years of practical work under supervision, in a teaching hospital of one's choice before being officially qualified to practice. This was a bit like an Apprenticeship but called an Internship. Ironically we were not called Interns but Housemen or House Surgeons.

It was late afternoon on April 9, 1960. Two of us - my fellow House Surgeon Willy Krom and I - were working in the Trauma Unit. This is a specialised unit that deals purely with injuries, accidents, and assaults of whatever kind.  Until that moment all had been peaceful and quiet. The Rand Easter Show was about to start and Johannesburg was in a festive mood.

A scene from the Rand Show

A bizarre call came through that a white male had been admitted to one of the Medical Wards with injuries sustained at the Show. Medical Ward? Injuries? Medical Wards deal with the discipline of Internal Medicine, which is the management of general diseases such as Hypertension, Diabetes, Heart Failure, Diagnostic conundrums etc. NEVER physical Injury. Besides, WE were the Trauma unit.

Our superior, the Registrar, told us we had better go and...