(Series 17, ep. 2) What kind of doctor is Dr Raf Smug? “What kinda doctor are you?” asked Michael Spence. See – he wants to know as well. He’s a magical doctor, according to Fletch, who wanted some of that “Di Lucca magic” for a plastics case. Normally Michael Spence would be your go-to guy for this kind of thing (plastics, not magic), but he was busy elsewhere, and no other plastic surgeon was to be found in the whole of Holbyshire, so it was time for Raf to gather up what was left of his self confidence after Smug/Posh/Barf-gate and snap on those latex-free gloves.
The patient was Crazy Eric, and he was all about risk. Life wasn’t worth living, he explained, unless you were balanced on a tightrope somewhere very high, or bungee jumping or any of that other mad stuff that lands people in hospitals. But when he went blind, could Raf risk sorting out his eyes with an incredibly delicate and complex procedure that would normally only be attempted by a fully paid-up opthalmologist? He wasn’t sure, so Fletch had to give him another pep talk along the lines of “you just have to man up and ignore the fact that your wife has left you because she’s probably pregnant by a man whose sperm is far friskier than yours and who has a dazzling smile to match.” Fletch was qualified to give this advice “because my private life is full of cock-ups” (you can take that almost too literally). “Same here,” chimed Michael (ditto).
When Raf described this eye operation it sounded truly disgusting, and the op itself was possibly the most revolting thing I’ve ever seen. Or not seen, because I couldn’t actually look. Even the snipping noise was traumatic enough.
Procedure successfully completed and Crazy Eric well on the road to recovery, Raf went off to confide in Amy. “‘Dr Smug’ – that’s what some people round here call me,” he said. Yes they do, and I would love to take the credit for that. Amy grabbed the concept. “Go! Be Smug! Be Great! It’s what you do best!” she said, in what was presumably intended to be a compliment. It’s fair to say that Raf’s mojo is restored, as he had enough of it left over to lobby for a new 3D printer for plastics purposes. “They don’t call him Dr Smug for nothing,” sighed Fletch adoringly. Again, this was intended as a compliment.
Meanwhile, Dr Dominic Copeland was planning a surprise holiday for Kyle – yes! cosy coupledom already. But then disaster – he spotted Kyle with another man. But then hurrah – the other man was just Kyle’s cousin, and Kyle is so sweet he prepares nice breakfasts for Dominic and has given him his own drawer to keep his smalls in when he stays over. He even brought the empty drawer in to work. Possibly slightly over the top as gestures go, but Kyle is adorable, so all’s well that ends well. Except Kyle still thinks that the reason Dominic is a bit wary of committment is that he’s recovering from the death of his One True Love. That’s Malick. Who isn’t dead. Dominic had a delightful patient, Myrtle, who’d been having an affair for 30 years. She spoke Dominic’s brains, saying “A big fat lie in a relationship is always going to hurt.” But he just couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth, not with Kyle being so sympathetic and everything. He’s like “a bucket of greased eels with the moral compass of a stoat,” was Digby’s assessment.
Question: What’s the best fluid – blood or spinal? We were actually treated, if that’s the word, to an argument along these lines between Jac Naylor (Team Blood) and Selfie (Team Spinal Fluid) who were busy doing one of those two-procedures-at-once operations and trying to score points off each other. They were being observed by Olive Fincher, the secretary of the Friends of Holby City, the most important and formidable fundraising body in the whole of Holbyshire. I don’t remember hearing about them before, but maybe they work on a masonic kind of basis. Anyhoo, what Ms Fincher really came to see was “The Legend” Jac Naylor (and to get lobbied for that 3D printer by Dr Smug). This helped Selfie to fully appreciate The Legend’s legendary qualities.
Heart and brain ops complete and all fluids mopped up, we then had to endure some dreadful flirting between The Legend and the CEO based on the motif of the sun shining from Jac’s backside. Later on Colette turned up at the Office of High Authority to whisk Selfie off to a booth at the Blue Note (I’m guessing it’s a late-night jazz club in Rodolfo’s basement), but he already had plans. He was taking Jac to dinner. “This could be the start of something really big,” he mumbled, and I felt even queasier than I did when Raf was operating on Crazy Eric’s eyeball.
Posted by Sue