On Monday I was asked to do an urgent house call on the way into surgery. Consequently I did not have the benefit of having her notes with me. Fortunately, as I knew her well they were not really necessary. Or so I thought.
On my arrival, having been let in by an elderly neighbour, I found a confused old lady, off her feet (a doctor's expression for being unable to walk) and, as she was living alone, completely unable to look after herself. I phoned the local hospital to arrange emergency admission, something I have done literally hundreds of times in the past. I gave the patients' details, then was asked to give the postcode of her house.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know it", I responded.
"Can't the patient supply it?"
"I'm afraid not. She's rather confused, you see, as I explained earlier."
"Well I'm sorry, doctor, but I can't send an ambulance out to you until I get a postcode."
I will admit that at this point I became a little testy.
"Oh really? So if the patient simply sits here at home and dies of neglect, I can tell the coroner's inquest that although I gave you the correct address, you wouldn't send an ambulance here because I didn't give you the postcode? How do you think that's going to look?"
"There's no need for you to adopt that tone of voice with me, doctor. I'm just doing me job as I've been trained to do."
It took a lot more persuading, cajoling and, eventually, abuse, before the operator accepted the admission. But before I put the phone down, I said:
"Thank you for that. I'm now going home to memorise the postcode of all 4000 of my patients. Goodbye."
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