Dear Wouter,

I thought you might need a few words of support while trying to convince the Health Professions Council that you are not some depraved monster who isn’t fit to slice people open and fiddle with their vital organs while they’re unconscious. You might be a dinosaur in a political sense, but it’s not as if you escaped from Thoracic Park and rampaged like a giant lizard through our cities.

And so what if the media dubbed you “Dr Death”? My own family calls me Dr Drunkenstein. These are terms of endearment and we should be grateful for them.

You have come a long way since slipping the hook on charges of murder, fraud and a range of drug-related offences so impressive that you would almost certainly be guaranteed of a top position in the 28s should you ever decide to move to the Cape Flats.

I cannot understand why, as former head of the old National Party government’s chemical and biological warfare programme, you have still not been given the recognition you so clearly deserve. As you once told the committee, your work was “for the benefit of mankind”. Instead of trying to nail you for unethical conduct, they should be nominating you for a Nobel Prize. I shall write to the Norwegians at once demanding that they at least give you a lifetime achievement award.

Mankind has indeed benefitted from your work. Who among us can forget dancing the night away after popping a couple of Basson’s Brownies at one of the secret raves that made the 1980s such a fun decade? Pure ecstasy, I tell you. Ridiculously pure.

As you told the committee, the ’80s were “crazy years … people did things. Doctors planted bombs”. Right on, bro. You tell ’em. I got so crazy in the ’80s that I planted marijuana. Turned out to be poison ivy. Smoked it anyway. Forgot I had a job. Went colour blind. Misplaced my girlfriend. Damn fine stuff.

You also told the committee that you never intended to hurt anyone and simply wanted to make a difference. That’s the whole point of germ warfare, isn’t it? Making a difference. Why can’t the council see this?

There was a report in the papers about you having been involved in some sort of altruistic reach-for-a-dream scheme for Swapo prisoners. If I remember correctly, they wanted to experience the joys of sky-diving. They were given fabulous drugs and dropped over the Atlantic. It’s not your fault the army couldn’t afford parachutes.

Your critics also claim you manufactured Mandrax and had it distributed among the anti-apartheid community. If that’s true, I think it was a very noble gesture. Lefties in those days could barely afford a toasted sandwich, let alone a bagful of quality smokable items. Back then, there was nothing quite like a white pipe to lift your spirits and dispel those state of emergency blues.

And how about that drug-laced teargas? I always thought the protestors were doubled over in pain. Turns out they were laughing. What a hoot! Wish I’d been sprayed with some of that stuff. Oh, well. That’s the price I paid for supporting apartheid.

Ironic, isn’t it, that you were fired by FW de Klerk and rehired by Nelson Mandela. Apparently the ANC didn’t want you selling your secrets to the Libyans. Or worse, the Americans. You know who needs you now? The Iranians, that’s who. I can hear President Hassan Rouhani shouting, “Unleash Wouter Basson!” Nobody is going to care about oppressing the Palestinians if there’s LSD in their water supply.

Word on the street is that you haven’t dabbled in chemicals for years, which is more than I can say for most of the people I know. Are you happy as a heart surgeon? I don’t think it’s for me. Cardiology is fine as a hobby but it’s not really a man’s job, is it. You need slender, girly fingers to be able to root around in a person’s chest cavity. And it’s not like they can fight back, either. I have big, powerful hands that can reach down a man’s throat and rip out his heart in one fluid movement, even when I am on pethidine. Especially when I am on pethidine.

Are you still operating behind the Boerewors Curtain? Watch your back, my friend. Durbanville isn’t what it used to be. The English-speakers are moving in under cover of darkness and there have been recent sightings of people who aren’t white.

Pathologically yours,

Dr Benzedrine Trovato

PS. If things turn nasty at your hearing, stand up and say to the committee: “I will give you my scalpel when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.” It worked for Charlton Heston and it can work for you.