Further Confessions of a GP

On this particular Friday afternoon my captive audience was Vanessa, my medical student; she had been sitting in with me for three weeks. I like to try to convince myself that the medical students see me as a young, trendy doctor barely much older than themselves. I ask them what music they listen to and make sure they call me Ben rather than Dr Daniels. As each year goes by I find this an increasingly difficult undertaking to pull off. Bright eyed and enthusiastic, Vanessa seemed to take an interest in absolutely everything and everyone. Not once had I witnessed her display even the slightest hint of cynicism and it was perhaps this overwhelming positivity, even more than her youthful looks, that made me feel so very much older than her.

‘I never get colds,’ Vanessa gushed brightly as I explained my ill health.

Good for you, Vanessa, I thought as I wallowed further in the misery wreaked by the combination of afternoon surgery and my terrible man-flu symptoms. The constant stream of patients was exhausting but just about manageable and although Vanessa’s incessant enthusiasm could be grating, her high energy levels were keeping me awake.

Before surgery started, I had eaten three cloves of raw garlic in a vain attempt to ward off my snuffles. I’m not sure there is any scientific evidence that raw garlic cures a cold, but anecdotally at least my pungent breath seemed to be helping prevent patients from overstaying their welcome.

Just when I thought the end of surgery was in sight, I spotted that a certain Mrs Patrick had been added to the end of my consultation list. If I’m honest, my master plan to wean her off her constant visits by encouraging non-medical interventions had failed. With some delight she informed me that getting a dog was out due to the terrible dog hair allergy that she was bound to develop, and she couldn’t join a choir because the light in the hall where they rehearse might trigger off her photosensitivity reaction. Instead, she came to visit me so she could offload her ailments in the normal fashion. I would nod and listen sympathetically, but in recent weeks I had prided myself at being able to stand strong and bravely bat away her inappropriate requests for unhelpful medication and unsuitable referrals.

As she walked into my room, her first words were a damning complaint about our appointments system. Normally I would counter this by pointing out that she had in fact managed to get an appointment with me the very afternoon she called, despite having not a single ailment that could be considered even the slightest bit urgent. Instead, in my viral induced misery, I simply conceded an apology hoping to move the consultation along. Surrendering this morsel to Mrs Patrick was a catastrophic error. Spotting I was ill, she smelled my weakness and like a shark with the taste of blood she went in for the kill.

By the end of the consultation, Mrs Patrick had managed to glean from me two inappropriate referrals, some expensive medication she didn’t need and a course of antibiotics, even though she didn’t have the slightest hint of an infection. I simply did not have the energy to say no to her list of extensive demands and once I had said yes once, my resolve and spirit collapsed in a broken heap. As the appointment broke the 30-minute mark, I even resorted to breathing heavily in her direction, but even with my pungent garlic halitosis I was powerless to stop her. Such was the scale of her momentum, I think even a stake through the heart would have failed to bring the consultation to an end. When she did finally get up out of her chair, I could sense her indulgently wallowing in her splendid triumph. On her way out she briefly turned around and I think I may have seen the slightest upturn of the corners of her mouth. It might have just been a twitch, but if I’m not mistaken I was quite possibly, for the first time ever, witnessing her smile.

Slumped, exhausted and broken, I glanced up at Vanessa who looked at me with what I took to be pity in her eyes. I could imagine her wondering what had become of me that I could be so thoroughly physically and emotionally broken by a middle-aged woman with a few health phobias and a pathological addiction to coming to the surgery.

‘Don’t worry,’ I offered meekly. ‘She may have won this battle, but I’ll win through at the end. This is like the end of The Empire Strikes Back when the Jedis are all but beaten, but when I’m well again next week I’ll fight back Return of the Jedi style.’

Vanessa gave me a very puzzled look.

‘The first “Star Wars” films,’ I said, surprised that this should need an explanation.

‘Oh yes, I think I’ve heard of them. My dad probably likes them.’

Medical students