This week, I have been thinking about words the French surgeon, Ambroise Paré, wrote in the sixteenth century, ‘I dressed the wounds, but God healed them’. Over the centuries, some surgeons of the same mind have been fervent in prayer.

An t-seachdain seo, tha mi air a bhith a’ smaoineachadh air facail a sgrìobh an lannsair Frangach Ambroise Paré anns an t-siathamh linn deug, ‘Cheangail mi suas na lotan, ach ’s e Dia a shlànaich iad’. Thar nan linntean, tha cuid de lannsairean den aon inntinn air a bhith dùrachdach ann an ùrnaigh.

In my ‘thoughts’, I have been remembering the words of the French surgeon, Ambroise Paré, ‘I dressed the wounds, but God healed them’.

When I was a medical student in Nepal, fifty years ago, I was apprentice to Dr Jonathan Yoder, an American surgeon.

Anns na smuaintean agam, tha mi air a bhith a’ cuimhneachadh air facail an lannsair Fhrangaich, Ambroise Paré, ‘Cheangail mi suas na lotan, ach ’s e Dia a shlànaich iad.’ Nuair a bha mi nam oileaneach meidigeach ann an Nepal, o chionn leth-cheud bliadhna, bha mi nam phreantas dhan Dr Jonathan Yoder, lannsair Ameireaganach.

This week, I have been remembering the words of the French surgeon, Ambroise Paré, ‘I dressed the wounds, but God healed them’. In the middle of the nineteenth century, three hundred years after Parè’s time, there was a surgeon in Aberdeen who saw himself as a servant in God’s healing work – William Keith.

An t-seachdain seo, tha mi a’ cuimhneachadh air facail an lannsair Fhrangaich, Ambroise Paré, ‘Cheangail mi suas na lotan, ach ’s e Dia a shlànaich iad.’ Ann am meadhan na naoidheamh linn deug, trì cheud bliadhna an dèidh latha Paré, bha lannsair ann an Obar Dheathain a bha ga fhaicinn fhèin mar sheirbhiseach ann an obair slànachadh Dhè – Uilleam Keith.

Yesterday, I was remembering Ambroise Paré, a famous surgeon who worked on the battlefields in the sixteenth century.

As regards faith, Paré was a Protestant at a time when that was a very dangerous thing to be in France. In the history of surgery, Paré won for himself the accolade, ‘The Father of Modern Surgery.’

An-dè, bha mi a’ cuimhneachadh air Ambroise Paré, lannsair ainmeil a bha ag obair anns na blàran anns an t-siathamh linn deug.

A thaobh creidimh, b’ e Pròstanach a bha ann am Paré, ann an linn nuair a bha sin air leth cunnartach anns an Fhraing. Ann an eachdraidh obair-lannsa, choisinn Paré dha fhèin an tiotal ‘Athair Obair-lannsa Nuadh’.

I recently read a book about Ambroise Paré, a famous French surgeon who was alive in the sixteenth century.

Words that he wrote have stayed in my memory, ‘I dressed the wounds, but God healed them.’

O chionn ghoirid, leugh mi leabhar mu Ambroise Paré, lannsair ainmeil Frangach a bha beò anns an t-siathamh linn deug.

Sgrìobh e facail a ghlèidh mi nam chuimhne, ‘Cheangail mi suas na lotan, ach ’s e Dia a shlànaich iad.’

An t-seachdain seo, tha mi air a bhith a’ meòrachadh air a’ chuspair, teagamh. Bhiodh cuid a’ mìneachadh ‘teagamh’ mar ‘chreideamh eadar dà bheachd’ no ‘creideamh ri strì’.

Diluain, bha mi a’ cuimhneachadh gun do dh’fhiosraich Ìosa teagamh anns na deisciobail aige, gu sònraichte ann an Tòmas an t-Abstol.

This week, I have been thinking about the subject of doubt.

Some would define doubt as ‘faith in two minds’ or ‘faith struggling’.

On Monday, I was remembering how Jesus had encountered doubt in his disciples, particularly in Thomas.

An-dè, bha mi a’ meòrachadh air ciamar a fhuair lighichean seachad air an teagamh mu phenicillin.

San latha an-diugh, bidh cungaidhean-leighis ùra air a chur fo dheuchainn ann am pròiseas foirmeil a mhaireas, ’s dòcha, deich bliadhna agus a chosgas còrr is millean not.

Yesterday, I was thinking about how physicians overcame their doubts about penicillin.

Nowadays, a new medicine will be put to the test in a formal process that lasts, perhaps, ten years and costs millions of pounds.

Tha mi air a bhith a’ smaoineachadh air an dòigh anns a bheil teagamh a’ toirt buaidh oirnn. Chanadh cuid gur e bun-stèidh saidheans mheidigich a tha ann an teagamh. Ach tha e coltach gun do chuir teagamh dàil fad deich bliadhna air leasachadh penicillin nuair a bha feum aig mòran euslainteach air.

I have been thinking about the ways in which doubt affects us. Some would say that it is the foundation of modern medical science. But it appears that doubt caused a delay of ten years in the development of penicillin at a time when many patients needed it.

Bha mi a’ smaoineachadh an-dè air a’ chuspair, teagamh, an dà chuid nar beatha phearsanta agus ann an saidheans meidigeach.

Aig àm a’ Chogaidh Mhòir, chunnaic Alexander Fleming an t-uabhas de shaighdearan leònte a’ faighinn bàs le lotan breun. Dh’fhàg seo làrach mhòr air.

I was thinking about the subject of doubt, both in our personal lives and in medical science.

At the time of the Great War, Alexander Fleming saw a great many soldiers dying of infected wounds. This made a deep impression on him.

Ann an 1769, dh’fhoillsich an Dr Uilleam Buchan an leabhar Domestic Medicine, leabhar anns an robh e a’ moladh chungaidhean-leigheis dhaibhsan aig nach robh comhairle an lighiche. Shoirbhich leis an leabhar – chaidh ceithir fichead mìle lethbhreac a chur an clò anns a’ Bheurla.

In 1769, Dr William Buchan published the book Domestic Medicine, a book in which he recommended cures to people who didn’t have the advice of a physician. The book did well – 80,000 copies were printed in English.