Confessions of a GP

I decided not to go with my common sense and instead we carried on with the chest compressions and mouth to mouth. This was not because I thought that there was any chance of this woman surviving, but because her distraught-looking husband needed to feel that absolutely everything that could be done was being done. The other concern was a legal one. Once you start a treatment, it can be a thorny matter about deciding to stop. I wasn’t in the UK and from a litigious viewpoint, it was a much safer decision to carry on with the pointless CPR. I had a big crowd of onlookers now and they were every bit an audience as our performance was purely for show. The ambulancemen did eventually arrive but, to be honest, they were fairly useless. They didn’t have much equipment and they couldn’t intubate (put a tube into the lungs to help breathing). They didn’t even have a defibrillator (machine to give the heart an electric shock). Instead, they scooped her up on a stretcher, plodded along the beach to the ambulance and drove her to the hospital, continuing to resuscitate in much the same ineffectual way as me.

That beach really was gorgeous and although in no hurry to die myself, I can’t think of a more perfect place to expire. To drop down dead on golden white sands after a swim in crystal clear waters seems a rather nice way to go. If it were me, I wouldn’t then want some sweaty pasty English bloke to spend an hour jumping up and down on my chest in front of a crowd of nosy onlookers.

Gifts

One of my female patients has begun visiting me twice a week. During our consultations, she pulls in her chair very close to me and strokes my leg. She always kisses me when she leaves and has taken to buying me presents despite my objections. During our last consultation, she attempted (unsuccessfully) to slip me an envelope full of cash.

Ethel is 93 and her behaviour is generally thought to be a bit ‘batty’ and ‘comical’ rather than anything more concerning. Were I a young female GP receiving this sort of attention from a male patient, everyone would be a bit more concerned, but given that Ethel isn’t exactly threatening my personal safety or my marriage, her affections remain nothing more than a source of amusement to the receptionists and other doctors.

Generally speaking, receiving gifts from patients can be awkward. Sometimes patients simply want to say thank you for putting in that extra bit of effort, but I generally feel uncomfortable receiving gifts. I’m being paid very well to look after my patients and so shouldn’t really expect an extra incentive such as a nice bottle of wine at Christmas to do my job. I feel especially bad if a patient who I know doesn’t have much money buys me an expensive gift that they can’t afford. Declining the gift can cause offence but it is a difficult area.

Sometimes gifts put an odd slant on the consultation. I received a very expensive bottle of champagne from one of my patients one Christmas. The bottle was very happily received (and consumed), although I was slightly surprised as the patient wasn’t someone that I saw very regularly. Two weeks later I received a form to complete with regard to his entitlement to incapacity benefit payments. The patient had been on long-term sick benefits for a long time but I did question his genuine need to be signed off work. I filled in the form honestly but I wonder whether the bottle of bubbly was an attempt to be a bit of softener.

One of my colleagues once got left the entirety of the contents of a patient’s house in her will. He had a big dilemma as to whether he should accept this and, after much debate, eventually decided to sell her belongings and give the money to charity. After spending a long weekend trawling through her possessions, he ended up having to fork out £200 to have everything taken away by a house clearance company, as there was nothing of any value whatsoever. He wasn’t best pleased.

I can’t speak for other doctors, but personally if a patient ever wants to thank me, I would love a card or letter expressing this. As with us all, it is nice to be told that we are doing a good job sometimes, even if it is simply what we are being paid to do. I’m not that keen on wine and chocolates make me fat. Envelopes of cash are a bit dodgy and will get me struck off, so a card is just right.

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