YOU NEED TO SEE A DOCTOR? YOU'RE JOKING!

 

                                      YOU NEED TO SEE A DOCTOR?  YOU'RE JOKING!

I was informed by a very pleasant Boots pharmacist that my being diabetic prevented him from recommending an ointment for a corn.  I took note of his advice, which entailed what formerly was a very simple operation.  No, not one on the affected toe, but a phone call to the local surgery in order to see a doctor.

Back in the good old days when the 'Service' in National Health Service meant exactly what it said on the tin - in respect of booking an appointment - you simply rang 'The doctors'.  Consolidation,  changes in care policy and cutbacks produced 'Practices' and 'Surgeries'.  These in turn became 'Health Centres', and with every move forward, service went backwards.  Not the service given by a doctor, but the service, or lack of it, you received, and continue to receive from what were formally known as 'Receptionists', and are now unofficially, but very accurately described by most patients as 'Gatekeepers'!  You struggle to get past the buggers!

The act of communication with my Health Centre is akin to visiting post offices in order to tax your car.  It was always a relief when the errand had been fulfilled and the transaction completed. You felt a real sense of achievement as you metaphorically skipped back to your car, disc in hand whistling a happy tune and basking in the success of another years hassle-free motoring.  Sadly, whilst taxing your car on-line has taken the stress out of queuing, the stress of the inevitable clashing of patient against gatekeeper becomes evermore tense.

"Ring your doctor' the pharmacist advised, an ordeal in the making if ever there was one and seemingly with a cast of thousands.  It was Monday afternoon, the week before last that I first attempted communication with a gatekeeper.  My call was met by a robotic voice harping on at length about Covid 19 and how help and information could be found on the appropriate website.  There followed a female voice advising anyone who had the audacity to ring for an appointment that the centre was extremely busy and doctors were only dealing with what she termed 'emergency cases'.  From there another pre-recorded female voice offered four alternatives.  Press 1 for an appointment, 2 for prescriptions, 3 for test results and 4 for referrals.  I pressed  number 1 regardless of the previous warning and waited patiently as I travelled my journey from No. 13 in the queue over a twenty-eight minute period to the now enticing position where the irritating robot informed me that I was 'number one in the queue, waiting to speak to a representative'.   Out of interest, it matters not which number you press as they all go through to the same person who happens to pick up the phone.  So much for four options!

Vying for  position of 'Top Dog' in the 'Irritation Handicap Stakes' along with the robot was the music that accompanied my journey, my experience... my bloody frustration!  When I eventually heard a 'live' female voice, my relief was palpable, a real person,  This experience was  similar to traipsing across a dessert for a week under a burning sun and then espying an oasis... I explained that it was only a corn, my first in over seventy-three years on this planet, however my attempts to find a solution via our good friend at Boots had elicited a request to seek doctorial advice due to my being diabetic. Whilst I never expected to see a doctor that afternoon, I could see no valid reason why an appointment couldn't be made for the following day, or even the day after that. No! Not on your life, No way. A discussion ensued regarding the length of time it took to answer the phone, the lack of flexibility and the fact that everything is skewed towards and for the benefit of those behind the glass-fronted reception 'wall'  It was at this point that the gatekeeper, with all the charm of a disgruntled scorpion wrapped up the conversation from her end and replaced her handset leaving me speaking to no-one in particular, or more precisely no-one at all. I cannot abide rudeness. Twenty-three minutes later, the same format and rigmarole saw me talking to another gatekeeper. She explained that with not enough doctors, not enough gatekeepers ( she used the term 'receptionists', but we know!) and 30,000 patients  on their books it is no longer possible for appointments to be made for another day.  Unbelievable!

I rang back, I do not give up easily, and after fifteen minutes spoke to another, more civil gatekeeper who reiterated the scorpion's comments regarding the statistics adding 'There's nothing more we can do about it really, it's the system.'  My argument that someone actually instigates the system, not a computer, got me nowhere save an offer for the Practice Manager to give me a call that afternoon.  Safe to say, three hours elapsed and guess what? That's right, bugger all.  I did catch up with her midweek, but apparently there had been a breakdown in communication. She mentioned the same statistics and system so that's obviously the party line whipped out for all and sundry complainants. Oh well...

Everything is on the side of the surgery - let's call it that.  All they do is pick up the next call, it matters not a jot to them how long the poor sod has waited on the end of the line listening to the excruciating music interspersed with the asinine comments and forlorn hope of ever making human contact again.  I actually managed to get the gatekeeper to ask a doctor to ring me and  he did, that evening.  I told him there would be a whole generation of newly-qualified doctors who will never see a patient in the flesh.  All consultations will be virtual. With youngsters living in a world of social media, virtual friends and little real social contact, the thought of new GP's gaining experience from actually seeing patients sat opposite them on the other side of the desk and getting to know them will soon be a thing of the past. So much for that 'Caring Society' we read about! 

Funnily enough,  the doctor seemed to listen to my concerns as a patient and booked me an appointment for the Wednesday morning with a diabetic nurse to check my toe. Why couldn't the gatekeeper have done that in the first place. 

Upshot of it all,  'cause I know your'e eager to learn,  is that a pumice stone and plaster along with a watchful eye should sort the problem. I was also informed that the pain I was suffering, pain that was far greater than childbirth, obviously, would dissipate and I should recover and continue to live a fairly healthy and increasingly grumpy existence,  pining for the 'Good Old Days' and reminding all who care to listen - and those who don't! - that 'Receptionists used to work on behalf of the patient, not the other way round!'.

Right, a cuppa and change of plaster beckons. Until my next surgery encounter - Cheers!

PS:  As of this morning you can no longer queue when you ring to make an appointment for a doctor to call you.  A robotic voice informs you that in order to save you time by queuing you need to ring back later, when you will be queuing once more!  If ever a system needed surgical intervention, it's this one!