Storm warnings
Cautions about weather conditions are now every bit as frequent as health warnings. Maurice Gueret wants them both togged out in plain language.
Code Red
With three tragedies on our roads, Ophelia was no storm in a teacup. But I do worry about talk of criminalising people who ignore weather warnings. Warnings are not always clear and concise — they neither heed county boundaries, nor sit neatly in ordered time frames. The more people that issue warnings, the more room there is for confusion. And the more warnings that are issued about minor weather events, the less heed people pay to really big ones. I didn’t learn code reds or code ambers at school. Nor do I know the difference between a category 1 or 3. When a serious storm brews up, I don’t really want to hear from ministers eager to get into camera shot. They should be at home, happy in the knowledge that on their watch, all dangerous roadside trees have been pruned before the storm. I want clear and concise information from one person who the nation trusts to tell it as it is. Is it mad to walk the dog? Is it still safe to tie down the trampoline? How can you visit older neighbours without leaving your house? Ireland needs to appoint an all-weather climate tsar. Step forward, Teresa Mannion.
Bum Tick
‘Most doctors wouldn’t know Lyme disease if it bit them on the bum’ ran posters at a recent patient protest in Dublin. But the disease doesn’t bite you on the bum. A little spider-like tick does the biting. Its access to bare bottoms is extremely rare outside naturist camps. Some of these tics carry a bacterium called Borrelia burgdorferi. It’s the bug that causes human Lyme disease. It may feel good to throw insults. Just make sure they are accurate ones.
Calorie Count
Coming soon to a hospital shop near you is a ban on big sweety bags. Concerned that 700,000 health-service staff are now overweight, the head man of Britain’s NHS has declared war on ‘super-size snack culture’ in his institutions. I have little doubt that our HSE will follow suit. Already canteen sambos under the NHS chief’s watch must come in at under 400 calories. Now hospitals have been advised to set an arbitrary 250-calorie limit on all confectionery in campus shops. That puts an end to giant chocolate bars and monster sharing bags of jelly babies. The good news for ward visitors is that grapes, at three calories each, seem to be exempt from the order. But if you wish to keep your loved one under the 250-calorie limit, just buy a half-kilo and eat about 20 of them in the elevator.
Moo Mints
I’d recommend a few sweet exemptions when legislating for good health. Minty chewing gum has been shown to enhance short-term memory, and I am partial to the theory that a square or two of dark Bournville a day might help ward off heart disease. As a long-time fan of Ritchie’s Milky Mints, I’ll emit a very loud moo if anyone interferes with this biggie bag. Connoisseurs of fine confectionery would know that this quintessential Dublin product contains oil of peppermint, which is a great natural ingredient for keeping tummies settled. It’s almost 20 years now since a famous Harvard study found that men who indulged moderately in sweets and chocolate live almost a year longer than abstainers.
Loose Doo-Doos
Speaking of tummies, it dawned on me recently that even when we try, doctors and patients often don’t speak the same language. I recently asked somebody with a history of lower gut symptoms how their tummy was. Well, they answered, quite sharply I thought, that it wasn’t their tummy that has been troublesome, but it was their bowels! Anatomically and historically, they were, perhaps, correct. Tummy is a word first recorded in Dickensian times for the stomach, and the stomach is a hollow organ quite high up in the abdomen. It doesn’t really cause too many symptoms at the far end. But ‘tummy’ was adapted by doctors and patients for the whole of the abdomen, from the rib cage down to the groin. So symptoms deriving from organs like the liver, spleen, gall bladder or upper and lower intestines could rightly be described as tummy symptoms. The thesaurus isn’t helping me out here — squits, runs, trots and loose doo-doos mightn’t cut the mustard. Gippy tummy is a good one, but it often implies a recent tropical holiday. In future, I might stick to runny tummy. To clearly distinguish it from a mere funny one.