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Saying 'thank you' and meaning it. And listening to your gut instincts.

How often do you say "Thank you"?

And how often do you really - so sincerely that you could-gather-the-recipient-up-in-your-arms-and-hug-them-but-don't-because-that-would-be-a-bit-weird-really - mean it?

There are lots of ways of saying 'Thank you' from the I've-been-told-to-so-I'm-saying-it-under-my-breath-and-you'd-better-be-listening-because-there-is-no-way-I'm-going-to-say-it-again muttered thank you of the child, who far from understanding why he might have to say sorry sometimes, really can't see why he has to say thank you for something he didn't ask for, doesn't like and will throw in the bin as soon as granny has left the house, to the sarcastic f***-off -"THANK YOU VERY MUCH" when someone drives too fast through a puddle and soaks you and Littlest and her school shoes and her new coat and your lovely leather winter boots.

There's the warm 'thank you' implied in a kiss. And the courteous 'thank you' when in receipt of good service. Sometimes, a 'thank you' is reluctantly given, but expected and written - I can't be the only parent who threatens that Auntie So-and-so will not send a Christmas present next year, if she doesn't receive a thank you letter for the gift this year. A hurtful 'thank you' is one that is said in passing, almost as something to say, in an attempt to be polite perhaps, but which because it is uttered in a monotone and the speaker immediately continues onto the next subject, gets lost and its meaning therefore gets lost too. It's tempting then to think of that 'thank you' as flippant and to interpret its meaning as a slap in the face along the lines of 'I acknowledge that you tried but I think you could have done better.'

These chaps can't say thank you




- except with their eyes, designed to melt the heart, and their bodies lying across your feet, keeping you warm ... and alerting them to your movement. It's the dog's particular form of people monitoring - that watchful wakefulness, the eye that pops open as soon as you move, the muzzle that enquires "Isn't it about time for a Little Something (sorry, still not over Piglet's capitals) ... that growly sound was my tummy rumbling. I haven't eaten anything, not even rabbit droppings, for at least twenty minutes?" - that feeds their obsession with food. They are so enormously grateful when fed, that I am sure that if they could say 'thank you' it would be sincere ... and followed immediately by "Pleeeeease, can we have more?"

Why have I headed this post "Saying thank you and gut instincts?"

... Thank you for tummy rumbles? Grateful dogs who instinctively know who to follow around in their never ending quest for food? Instinctively knowing who will reward you the best if you say 'thank you' ever-so-nicely (never a sincere form of 'thank you, by the way!)?

No, none of these. Instead it is to do with a very special 'thank you.'

A rare 'Thank You,' that deserves its capitals and that I received today. It happened outside our local supermarket and quite took my breath away. So much that I cried all the way home.

Sometimes decision making is not at all clear. We can't follow protocols all the time. The person sitting in front of you does not 'tick all the right boxes.' Yet you know there is something wrong. You just know there is! Call it 'gut instinct' or claim to 'feel it in your bones,' you know you can't ignore it. It's not scientific, it's not backed up by research (actually, that's wrong. It has been researched, albeit in a rather limited fashion. And published in the BMJ, too. But generally, there is not a great body of evidence to support it) and anyway how do you persuade colleagues that your gut is speaking to you and wants you to speak to them.

My 'Thank You' was from a chap who credits me with saving his life. He took my hand in both of his and kissed it and said that his wife would be "so pleased" to hear that he had seen me. I am not the clever surgeon who cut the diseased bits out of him, nor the oncologist who chemically annihilated the parts the surgeon's knife couldn't reach, both of whom properly saved his life. I am just the humble general practitioner who started the ball rolling. But he thinks I gave him back the life, that when I first met him, he didn't know he was losing. I didn't ignore him. I didn't send him away with another cream. Why? Because I felt something in my gut. And my gut was spot on.

I felt truly humbled by his 'Thank You.' Grateful that I had listened to my gut. And if I could, I would say thank you to whatever that instinct was two years ago that enabled me to make a difference

... Thank You.


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