A surgeon's thoughts on the snow season

AS A YOUNG medical student in London, my first skiing trip was to the French Alps, staying in a small village called Le Praz. Each morning, my fellow novice skiers and I would drag our skis to the bubble lift and visit the nearby resort of Courchevel 1850.

The Ecole du Ski Francais instructors in their crimson jackets and the Russian oligarchs clad in furs were discombobulated by the sight of 10 oriental skiers snow-ploughing their way through their exclusive resort. The Chinese skiing equivalent of the Jamaican Bobsleigh team, we would end each day with burning thighs, bruises from falling a hundred times, but with boasts of how each blue and green slope was skilfully negotiated.

All was going well until the boys in the group decided to take on the Combe de la Saulire run on the final day. Halfway down, Daniel (now a respected oncologist at the National Cancer Centre) caught an icy bump and dislocated his shoulder. Terrified at the prospect of two medical students tugging on his injured limb, he somehow managed to pop his shoulder back in before we could touch him. Fortunately, I have not encountered any more severe injuries on the slopes, but have treated many skiers and snowboarders who have returned from Japan and Europe.