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Monday 9 February 2015

Needled

For those of us not disposed to being punctured by the medical profession the headlines that this year's flu vaccination is largely useless comes as a great relief.  We can forever say, "Well I don't think getting that is really worthwhile.  For example, in 2014/15 . . . ."


This may not be wise of course.

One of our main hospitals in North London has a building, formerly a smallpox and vaccination hospital, called the Jenner Building.  I often enter the hospital I visit most by the Jenner entrance/exit.

As a passing point of observation it doesn't have a Phipps Building.

The Jenner Building is so called in honour of Edward Jenner whose observational medical brilliance uncovered the way mild cowpox protected milkmaids from the far more serious smallpox.

This all brings me to James Phipps. Most of us will never have heard of him but the possibility is that, humanly speaking, we owe him our life. At the turn of the nineteenth century James, from a small Gloucestershire town, allowed a Doctor Edward Jenner to give him a disease (cowpox [vaccinia]) followed six weeks later by the deadly disease smallpox. Jenner's place in history was assured when, as he'd suspected, vaccination ('cowpoxination' never caught on!) prevented young James getting smallpox. A medical breakthrough was confirmed that still shapes much medicine today.

How often in history have ordinary people been the true glory of greater people?  It seems somewhat unfair really.  Yet it lies very close to the heart of Christian faith as John the Baptist famously introduced his Lord: I am not the Christ but I have been sent before him.  He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly because of the bridegroom's voice. This, my joy, therefore is made full.  He must increase, but I must decrease.

Even the absence of a Phipps Entrance tells me something I need to remember.

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