Consider first this small extract from the original Death and Dr Hornbook by Robert Burns, written in 1785 (Source: BBC)
Ev’n them he canna get attended,
Altho’ their face he ne’er had kend it,
Just shite in a kail-blade, an’ sent it,
As soon’s he smells ‘t,
Baith their disease, and what will mend it,
At once he tells ‘t.
Re-interpretation and translation by Derek Morrison (2017)
Now death is circling overhead
Physician cannot reach his bed
Although patient he has never seen
Sends specimen for expert screen
He smells the foetid mass and smiles
No death gateway here; only piles.
But embedded in the bowels of Burns’ satirical poem – which on the surface is about a doctor cheating death by employing, apparently, an 18th century version of telemedicine – lies a more serious matter. The polemic in the commentary section highlights this [select Continue Reading].
