Conversation this morning, in middle of surgery...
(background: I had already screened two requests for
visits and decided that the requests were realistic
and that they would have to be done)
Mum: Dr, can you come around and look at my son?
Dr: What's wrong with him?
Mum: He feels week, he's got a temp and a cough and
he can't get out of bed?
Dr: How old is he?
Mum: 33
Dr: Doh!
Mum: Pardon?
Dr: er, mothing, has he got a rash?
Mum: Well, he's been meaning to come to see you for a
few months about these moles on his arms and back.
Dr: I see. Can he make it around to the surgery
[note: client lives approx 300 yards from the surgery]
Mum: He's too weak. I can't get him out of bed and what would
I do if it was something serious?
Dr: In that case, Madam, you would need an ambulance, not a GP
Mum: [silence]
Dr: Anyway, open surgery runs until 11.30, so he's got an hour
to get up here and be seen. I can't say fairer than that.
[click]
About half an hour later, adult son rolls into surgery. Despite being
near death (allegedly) he had found the timt to shave, apply some
smelly, dress in coordinated black and appear quite decent. History
as taken from him suggested bog standard viral infection, with a
bit of supper-added bacterial infection you would expect in someone
smoking 20+ day. Examination confirmed findings. Some antibiotics and
some co-whatsits, a bit of HP about the dreaded weed, some noises about
self-treatment and he was on his way.
Anothe visit deflected and maybe one or two lessons learned.
"Oh, there's no point asking *that* doctor to do a home visit.
He *never* comes!"
A reputation I don't mind having. Then when I do a home visit, the
patients think the sky must have fallen down.
Remember, YMMV - housing standards vary from one inner-city cesspit
to another leafy suburb.
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