Margaret McCartney: Christmas presents

With Christmas come the presents, but since graduation they’ve caused me disquiet. They arrived, carefully and thoughtfully wrapped, some with notes and cards, some with just my name. In accepting gifts from patients, I was disturbed.

I thought, firstly, that they were being given under false pretences. I wasn’t doing any more than the average doctor, maybe less: I’d made mistakes; had missed things that the “retrospectroscope” made obvious; and had often been less sensitive or cheerful than I should’ve been. I didn’t deserve them, clearly.

Secondly, it wasn’t right to give me chocolates or alcohol when money was tight. This wasn’t a fair use of funds.

And, lastly, did accepting a gift mean that I’d …