In my view: Thank you to Dr Glass, from a nervous dad
All I can say is that although the women in the office scatter when he unexpectedly walks in through the door, is that he is truly going to be missed.
In this column I’m going to sneak in ahead of the tributes I suspect will come the way of Dr Dave Glass, who has recently announced his retirement (see story on page 4).
The first time I met him was arguably one of the very worst days of my life.
My wife had fallen pregnant in around October of 2010. We went to see the famed, legendary ‘Dr Glass’ in early January 2011, very excited.
The moment he connected the monitor to her, I knew something was wrong.
I knew the monitor should register that loud, thumping noise of the baby’s heartbeat, but there was nothing. Silence.
To the one side of the womb, I could see a small spot, a tiny blob.
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Dr Glass very gently guided us through the shock and disappointment of the miscarriage in a manner that had a profoundly positive effect on us going forward.
It felt like a disaster but he saw it differently, somehow. I’d say this inner strength of his comes from his strong Christian faith.
A year and a half later, he was there on arguably the best day of my life (aside from my wedding day, of course!) for the birth of our first child.
To say I was a basket-case in the theatre, sitting on the bench half a metre away from my wife, watching and waiting, would be the understatement of the century.
Dr Glass just looked across and winked.
I relaxed, but only a bit.
Next thing I remember was him saying something about the baby trying to swim away from him, then holding the baby and saying it was a boy, followed by the newborn’s very loud cry.
Two years later, almost to the day, we were back, and this time a girl had arrived.
Then, crazily, seven years later we had to go and see him again last year, due to a little lockdown surprise.
“Hello David and Daphne,” he said in his usual soft-spoken, flat-line manner, with the suggestion of a smile emerging. More of a question than a greeting.
He ran through all the usual things, all the questions without looking up. Then he looked up at us and asked, straight-faced: “What contraceptives were you using?”
I burst out laughing, Dr G’s eyebrows arched a touch in amusement amid suppressed mirth as he continued taking notes.
He must have seen this all too often.
I’m sure many, many people have their own stories to tell.
All I can say is that although the women in the office scatter when he unexpectedly walks in through the door, is that he is truly going to be missed.
My first two children have seen him. “That’s the doctor who brought you into this world,” I told them in a hushed tone. Eyes wide and a rare moment of silence.
Dr Glass speaks highly of his colleagues in the medical field and is confident the high standards will be maintained.
On behalf of all those who might not ever write a letter to the newspaper, thank you very much and all the best in your retirement.
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