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It is quite remarkable what an academic appointment can do for one’s career. Ever since Kieran became occupational physician at Linbridge University, it has been hard to pick up a medical journal without seeing his name, or more disturbing, his picture peering out from the pages of some of the more tabloid publications. At first, it was the odd book review and then letter to the editor, as he tried out his new-found respectability. Then he progressed to writing opinion articles in some of the more esoteric periodicals, before I noticed his name appearing in adverts for conferences for this, that and the other. These are the types of conference that always take place in London, have an opening address by a member of parliament or media celebrity who never turns up, and the ‘expert’ speakers know next to nothing about the subject they are speaking about. [The only part of the body that Kieran has any experience of repetitive strain in is the temporo-mandibular joint.] Most alarming are the conference fees they ask for, most of which would humble the salary of most hospital managers. Yet there seems to be a never-ending stream of the things in the post, so presumably somebody must go to them. It all came to a head when in the same week Kieran had written to the editor of one British medical journal, had the book that he had edited reviewed in an American journal, and in another British medical journal had written one of the leading articles. This was heavyweight respectability on a large scale, even though I didn’t understand what the hell he was writing about. Unable to deny Kieran his moment of glory, I paid him a visit, usually a good way to get a free lunch in his college if he was in a good mood. It was strange, therefore, to find Kieran in a most despondent state, and rather than the journals left conspicuously around and open at the relevant pages, Kieran was studying the job section intently. ‘What on earth is the matter?! Surely your career is what you’ve always wanted?’ I exclaimed, as Kieran asked what I thought of community paediatrics in Ghana. ‘The job was fine’, Kieran finally explained, ‘until the University Chief Executive went on one of these stupid health conferences for managers. You know, the ones that are always in London, cost a fortune and have an opening address by a member of parliament who never turns up.’ I nodded knowingly. ‘Well she has got this idea into her head that the Occupational Health Department should be offering benefits to the University’s workforce as befits a major employer.’ ‘Well there’s nothing wrong with checking a few blood pressures or cholesterol is there?’ I offered, as Kieran’s nostrils began to flare. ‘Blood pressure! Cholesterol!’ Kieran bellowed. ‘The crazy woman wants me to arrange on-site aromatherapy and reflexology, not to mention post-traumatic stress counselling, chiropractic and acupuncture. If she thinks that I’m spending my time tickling feet and sticking perfume up people’s noses, she can find another occupational physician.’ And that was that. I didn’t get lunch. I didn’t see Kieran’s job advertised either, even though I kept a close eye on the job sections for a good few months. It was only when I came across a paper describing an outbreak of occupational dermatitis in health care staff exposed to aromatherapy agents that I was able to reassure myself that all was well at Linbridge. I do wonder whether they are tickling feet, mind you.

Tales of Kieran: The occupational physician's odyssey