Dr Maurice Gueret on haemochromatosis and Surgeon Crampton’s ‘pineapple’

Rude health

Haemochromatosis is a peculiarly Irish disease that will be in the news next month, writes as he ponders the fate of Surgeon Crampton’s pineapple

Blood Test

World Haemochromatosis Awareness week begins tomorrow, and the Irish Haemochromatosis Association won’t be caught slacking in getting their message out about this important, and often missed disease. Hereditary haemochromatosis is more common in Ireland than anywhere else on Earth. One in 83 of us is predisposed to having iron overload, which is the crux of the condition, as the body absorbs and stores too much iron. Common symptoms include fatigue, lethargy and generalised weakness. Joint pains, especially in the knuckles and fingers, are often described. Others may have tummy pain, bronzing of the skin, irritability or mood changes. Further conditions such as organ damage, cirrhosis, liver cancer, diabetes and arthritis may follow if the condition goes undetected. A simple blood test to check serum ferritin status can suggest if iron overload is a problem, and further tests can then confirm the diagnosis. It’s a condition that is inherited by offspring when both parents are carriers, but carriers would usually be unaware they have the faulty gene. Unexplained symptoms such as fatigue often merit blood tests. Don’t be shy about asking your doctor if your iron levels have never been checked.

Apollo of Dublin

It has long been the dream of young doctors to be asked to perform an emergency tracheotomy on a choking patron of a bar or restaurant. The older physician might prefer to enjoy dinner in peace and good health. In the days before we knew about the big squeeze of the Heimlich manoeuvre (pictured right) to remove trapped morsels of food, the cutting of an emergency breathing hole below a windpipe obstruction was all the rage. In 1810, a young Dublin surgeon by the name of Philip Crampton was summoned to a tavern across the road from his house on Dawson Street. A waiter had choked badly on a large piece of gristle and was just about lifeless by the time Crampton arrived. The surgeon made a quick incision into the lower windpipe, introduced a hollow quill, and blew into it until the man came back to life. Crampton was forever after known by his patients as the Apollo of Dublin (Apollo being the Greek god of medicine). Slightly less enamoured colleagues knew him as Flourishing Phil. He had his own pack of hounds and hunted three times a week.

Pineapple Sculpture

Crampton’s reputation soared around the capital city and he became one of the most celebrated and fashionable surgeons of the 19th Century. He introduced the crushing and cutting of kidney stones to the Meath Hospital and was known as Sir Philip when he died in 1858. His interests went well beyond surgery. A peculiar muscle in the eye of birds is named after him, and Crampton was the driving force behind the establishment of Dublin Zoo. A huge drinking fountain was built to commemorate him after his death. Located outside Trinity College where D’Olier Street and Pearse Street meet, it had a bust of Sir Philip, a shield, a serpent, water plants, dolphin heads and three birds — a swan, a heron and a pelican. It was known affectionately to city dwellers as ‘the pineapple’; a rusty one at that. The Board of Works removed it in 1959 following a report that part of it collapsed on a postman. It was further damaged during its removal to a large skip and has not been heard of since. In Ulysses, Leopold Bloom passes the memorial and asks who Sir Philip Crampton was. Well, now you know.

Blind Streak

Optometrists received a bit of a boost this month as one of the clinical disciplines allowed to reopen in the early stages of lockdown release. But one of their number in England has fallen foul of the General Optical Council and will be sitting around for a further six months. He is a middle-aged freelance locum who once went for a streak with fellow optical students over two decades ago during college Freshers’ week. Five students had dinner together, followed by a few drinks, and before you could blink, three of them had divested themselves of clothes and run about outside in the cold. The cheering of fellow students alerted a passing police car who took the streakers off to the cells. In court, there was some ‘jocular questioning’ followed by a few £100 fines. But the optical regulators took a dim view and accused the now 50-year-old optician of ‘active dishonesty’ for not declaring the conviction on his annual optometry registration form. They recently found out about his student escapade and failed to see the funny side.