The Man Who Denied Me the Mucky Fat.
It was a freezing cold November afternoon, and I was driving to my last visit of the day. Get this done, write my notes, go home and warm up. Most likely with a takeaway. I was starving. The patient I was about to see was a lady with dementia, called Cynthia, who’d recently been discharged from hospital. Her mobility had suffered due to illness. Our aim was to try and build up her exercise tolerance, all while her husband, Dennis, took care of her in her recovery.
I got to the house and Dennis let me in. He told me that he himself was recovering from a chest infection that had wiped him out. But he’d done everything he could to keep Cynthia fed and watered. Cynthia was asleep in bed. Dennis led me through.
‘Cynthia, it’s Andy, the physio. I’m here to try and help you get walking again.’
Cynthia opened one eye, looked at me, shouted ‘NO’ and closed her eye again. Oh. Well, that was that then. I wasn’t getting any change out of her today.
Dennis was happy for me to try again another day, maybe when Cynthia’s in a brighter mood. He then told me that their neighbour had gone on holiday for two weeks. This neighbour normally does all their food shopping, but the cupboards were now bare. Dennis was putting his coat on, ready to walk to the shop. Due to his chest infection, he’d not felt up to doing it, so today was the day he was going to try.
I knew that the nearest shop was about 2 miles away. That’s a 4 mile round trip, half of which he’d be carrying heavy shopping bags. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to give him a lift. I was a relatively new physio at the time. Was I even insured to do this? I’d no idea. I now had a bit of time so I made a deal with Dennis. ‘I’ll drive you to the shop, and you can make your own way back. Or if you’re struggling, get a taxi.’ Dennis agreed. It was 5 minutes out of my way, so there wouldn't be any trouble. Fortunately I’d been able to park on his driveway, and Dennis got into my car with ease.
As we reached the shops, I said my goodbyes to Dennis as he opened the car door. But he couldn’t get up. The seat was too low for him. With an almighty push, I helped him out of the car. I watched him take a few steps and he was very unsteady. I brought him here. I now couldn’t leave him. My instincts told me he’d never get around the shops and make it home in one piece. So we went to Tesco Metro and I carried Dennis’ basket around. We were in there for nearly 45 minutes as he read every single label of every single item he picked up. Then he needed to go to the bank. Then he wanted to stop at the bakery.
The bakery had the most amazing sandwiches on display. Dennis chose a ham salad, and a cheese and pickle. He added three apple turnovers to the order. I thought my luck could be in here. For all my kindness, an apple turnover could be coming my way. Which would be thoroughly deserved if I’m being honest. Then he asked for a ‘pot of mucky fat.’ Being from Kent, I had no idea what this was, and it looked and sounded disgusting. A quick Google told me it was brown sediment or residue, collected from roasted beef or pork joints. When chilled it congeals, leaving two layers. Soft, white fat on the top. A brown, jelly-like substance underneath. What if he was going to give me this as a present instead of an apple turnover?
Having now been out for nearly two hours, I drove Dennis home, pushed him out of my car again, and saw him safely to his front door. He thanked me for the lift, stepped in the house, and closed the door. I was horrified that he didn’t even offer me an apple turnover. I mean, he did buy three of them. I’m sure Cynthia will be over the moon. But I was also pleased he didn’t give me his mucky fat.
NHS staff have a tendency to go above and beyond in the duty of care, and I’m no different. However, Cnythia didn’t want me, and Dennis, who wasn’t even my patient, only thanked me for the lift. Nothing about the two hours I’d spent with him carrying his shopping, running errands, and teasing me with freshly baked goods. Worst of all, I was too worried to mention it to anyone back at the office because I thought I’d get into trouble for taking someone out in my car. Would I do it again? Of course I would. Even for a pot of mucky fat.