First Impressions Aren’t Always Impressive

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By Radical Rhymes

I am not going to question centuries of common-sense knowledge and dismiss the importance of first impressions, but I do want to illustrate how misleading they can be. Of course, there are times when your first sense of another person is exactly right. I recall the first time I saw Donald Trump I thought he was a smarmy, arrogant, selfish, spoiled man-baby. Not only was that impression correct but it was wildly insufficient. Trump is far, far worse than I intuited…

However, there are times when we get it spectacularly wrong and only time and tide will tell.

For example, my family were throughout my early life intimately connected to health care professionals. My dad had one lung due to an accident while serving in the Navy, so he was often in and out of hospitals and had regular check-ups with the GP. That man was a hero, and I will tell his story at some stage. Similarly, my sister was under constant and close supervision because of her rheumatoid arthritis.

Over the years she had several GPs, but the last one was, I believe, her favorite. He was young, good-looking, funny, informal and charming. Although my mum found it extremely difficult to call him by his first name, he put her at their ease immediately and established a relationship that was more friendly than professional. He teased and cajoled and managed to get my stubborn sibling to do things that even my mum couldn’t.

I liked him too at first, although the informality and friendliness never went beyond the surface as far as I was concerned. When I needed surgery for a sports injury he was deeply disinterested and dismissive. ‘Do more sit ups’, he told me and sent me on my way. Another time when I had an infection he barely looked up, wrote a prescription, waved it at me and said: ‘Cured! You’re welcome!’

He was also the GP that sent my sister to hospital under the false pretence that they could operate on her hands, simply to to give my mum some respite. Well-intentioned it might have been, but it was a fatal mistake that ultimately helped no-one. She died from septicaemia in that place, and that provided no respite at all for my poor mother. I’m not blaming the GP of course, but I do see what he did as duplicitous and reflective of a side of him my family refused to see.

In contrast, there was another partner in that practice, who did not make such a good first impression. He was an ex-Army medic. Formal, distant, stand-offish, he would listen to your account, writing notes all the while, and when he had some idea of what was going on, he would explain it as succinctly and factually as he could. Unlike his colleague, who loathed him (and disparaged him to patients), he wouldn’t resort instantly to medicine, he preferred to look at the whole person. For those chasing prescriptions he was frequently a disappointment. I think it’s fair to say that he wasn’t well liked initially.

However, there came a time when the low moods I’d had since I was 14 turned into a permanent state of despair, and I reluctantly agreed to go to the surgery for help. What kind of help I had no clue, but I was crying all the time and my PhD studies were literally crawling along. All motivation had departed. All that lay ahead was dark and dank and my normally determined mindset had completely evaporated.

When I got there and found I was seeing this guy my heart sank. I pictured him writing and writing and eventually telling me to pull myself together. Man up! Plough on and eventually the drive will return. Sitting in that crowded waiting room trying not catch anyone’s eye my impulse was to leave. But I didn’t.

After an aeon of playing peekaboo with the baby in front of me while I felt as though I’d die, the buzzer went off and it was my turn.

He answered my knock, asked me to take and seat, and before he could say anything I burst into tears. What happened next astonished me. He put down his pad leaned forward, and his usually impassive face visibly softened. I told him that I didn’t know what was happening to me, that I felt so ashamed and embarrassed that I could hardly function.

‘Well, my friend,’ he said, ‘you’re depressed.’ It was said with such sympathy that I cried even harder. ‘Listen, you’re in a tunnel right now, but like all tunnels it has a way out. We will help you find it.’

I was prescribed anti-depressants, allocated a counsellor, and given a regular series of appointments. There is no doubt at all that he saved my life. Yes, the treatment was important, it obviously helped me to see the light again, but I still maintain that the most critical thing was his first reaction. It was more genuine and humane than anything I ever saw from the other GP.

A long while later, when I’d negotiated that crisis, though long before I received the Bipolar diagnosis, I saw him standing in the carpark of the local library. Compelled, I approached him and thanked him profusely, I needed him to know what a profound impact he’d made on my life. He shook my hand, gave me a gentle smile and assured me it was his pleasure.

First impressions? Sometimes they do not stand the test of time…

Radical Rhymes is a professional artist working with a range of media – predominantly animal/human portraits and landscapes – including, most recently, hand painted furniture. You can see his work on Instagram Radicalrhymes1969 or on Twitter @RhymesRadical.

For commissions, please contact him on Twitter via Direct Message or by email at: radicalrhymes@outlook.com His work is also available to buy on Etsy

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