The waiting room. Dowdy, poorly painted, plastic flowers, dilapidated furniture, musty. On the wall two photographs of a youthful Queen Elizabeth II. No other pictures. Would this room have looked any different in 1970? Such were my thoughts last Friday in Hobart as I awaited my Informal Inquiry by the Medical Council of Tasmania regarding a complaint I’ve previously mentioned [1,2,3,4]. The Inquiry began bang on time at 12:30 p.m. I thought it couldn’t have gone better. After my 35-minute presentation, then 15 minutes of questions from four Councillors, the President banished me back to the waiting room whilst the Council deliberated. Some 40 minutes later I was summoned and told they wanted more information, but not from me. So they adjourned the Inquiry. They said they’d let me know their verdict – my fate – by mail. And it could take some time. I was deflated, angry, disillusioned. Still am, but less so as time passes. If I find their verdict unacceptable, I’ll be tempted to take them to court to clear my name. But that’s premature; I need to wait and see what their verdict is. Their waiting room isn’t modern, but their attitude sure is: ignore rules of evidence; disregard natural justice; withhold benefit of the doubt; and dismiss my feelings. Thank you, Medical Council. I have complete respect for, and confidence in, you. Not.
2 days ago
