One would think, taking into consideration my career thus far as fairly typical of the average fifty year old South African doctor, that.....

.....after six years of intensive study, hundreds of hours of examinations, work experience in six hospitals, eight or so Christmas Days, and eight New Year’s Days and many special holidays on duty, missed birthday parties and family celebrations, several hundred happy live baby deliveries, and sadly several stillborn babies, dozens of caesarean sections, thousands of stitches put in to wounded people in busy casualties, being abused and spat on by drunk patients, seeing friends die from terrible diseases while powerless to intervene, performing post mortems, going to homes to break tragic news to relatives, treating crocodile, leopard and snake bits, malaria, bubonic plague, giving medical testimony in court at least a dozen times, counselling marriages and drug addiction, five more years of trying to balance training, career and family, more examinations, hours of study, the staggering success of curing ill patients, and the bitter loss of losing them, hundreds of resuscitations, closed and open cardiac massage, two years of international travel and work experience on three continents, 20 000 surgical procedures, a million consultations, a million prescriptions, millions paid in malpractice insurance and a clean litigation record, the searing agony of serious complications and the thrill of difficult surgery succeeding....

.....that medical advisers, technocrats and bureaucrats would give me the right to decide what is best to offer my own patients.  I think I’ve earned it.

Sadly not.