nice quiet day

I try to avoid saying "I deserved that", because in general it's a redundant concept: human beings don't deserve anything- equal rights, justice, freedom, etc. If they want these things they have to go out and fight for them, then struggle even more to keep them. So I don't "deserve" a quiet day like today, with nothing to be done but making the odd meal, washing it up and putting it away again. I'm just glad I had one. In less than a month work begins on my kitchen and there'll be no quiet days, Sunday or otherwise, for quite a while, I fear.

My chest infection is easing, thanks to the ABs, God bless 'em. In the pre-antibiotic era I could have been in a much worse state today; over the years they may even have saved my life once or twice.

saturday night live

At 11.55 PM I am in just under the wire for making my daily deadline.

An ambitious project, said a friend when I told him I was going to keep a daily journal for a whole year. But I have some experience, and am daily inspired by the greatest diarist of them all, Samuel Pepys, who kept a daily diary for almost 10 years and maintained an incomparably high standard of writing throughout.

Today has been exactly the stress free day to kick back and indulge myself that I needed so badly. I finished the first draft of my new story today. Within a fortnight I will have completed the revision process. I feel good about it; whether anyone else will is another story.

This evening, sharing a bottle of Alain Navarre rose champagne with 2 of our oldest and dearest friends- a delightful little soiree.

I find I posted my original blog just after midnight. Please forgive my laxness. I'm sure Pepys would.

the burden of command

Probably should have stayed home today. Half way through surgery i went into a spasm of coughing and hawking right in front of the patient and student. The former took it in his stride; the latter, spied out of the corner of my eye, stared goggle-eyed in horror as I spluttered fit to burst. It took a good couple of minutes to regain my composure.

At lunchtime, over sandwiches of such gargantuan proportions they could have fed half Port-au-Prince for a week, the bi-monthly practice meeting of partners and practice manager. She has her usual list of things-that-must-be-done, re-decorating, new blinds, replacing the carpet in the waiting room (it gets an immense amount of wear, it must be said)replacing the phone system (it is over 15 years old)with one of those where a voice gives you a list of options: I hate them but there's no denying it liberates the receptionists for other duties, and so on almost endlessly, to the point where the responsibility weighed on me with such crushing force I simply wanted to run away and seek the security of my well loved, and well used, sofa.

But with my chest in its current condition I wouldn't have got very far. I am so looking forward to my retirement next year. I know I will no longer be the captain of the ship, but right now the prospect of simply being a part-time assistant seems awfully attractive.

unanswered calls

Just 2 days ago I indicated that I always take calls from other doctors, but today I find not all my colleagues take the same view. I try to ring the rheumatologists to arrange an urgent appointment for a patient with multiple joint swellings and some very worrying blood results, only to be told that "the doctors are not to be interrupted during clinic" Where do they come off with a precious and arrogant attitude like this? Put another way: who the hell do they think they are? I try for nearly two hours before finally being connected to one, who, on hearing the facts makes arrangements to see the patient immediately. When I confront the doctor about the "non-interruption" policy she feigns ignorance of the rule. Neat, huh?

The whole situation has not been eased by my having developed a nasty cold, which, as is usual in life-long smokers, has turned straightway into a chest infection. I almost wish I'd stayed home today, but one of my receptionists is also streaming, and she's come in, so I have to set a good example.

memories are made of this

This morning in surgery I speak to a man who has lived in our town all his life. I ask him how much he remembers of the war. Quite a lot, it would seem. His memory is of an immensely happy and exciting time, except for the rationing, which he found annoying, especially because you could never get any more than the tiniest slivers of chocolate .

He told me of one extraordinary night in 1941 when there was an air raid. His family eschewed the shelters, preferring to take their chances in their own home. His grandmother had situated herself in a doorway, believing this to be the safest place in the house, seated in her beloved rocking chair, while the front and back doors were wedged open "to let the blast through the house without damaging it", apparently. Then a landmine had fallen in the back garden, and blown grannie straight out of the front door. When the dust settled, she was found on the other side of the road, unharmed and still sitting in her rocking chair which had been blown out with her.

Now that's what I call a war story.

a taste of spring

My morning off, and I drive just outside town to climb a small hill. Conditions are as favourable as they have been for 4 months; at 10 degrees it is definitely the warmest day of the year.

For lunch I enjoy herring in dill cream sauce courtesy of Lidls. Mm.. lovely stuff!

I am interrupted midway through afternoon surgery by a doctor calling. I always take calls from doctors straight away, perhaps in the hope I will always be afforded the same privilege (I am not, by the way).

"This is Dr--, chief executive of the PCT disciplinary committee"

I quail for a moment. What have I done now? I think. But no, it is not about me, but about another member of staff they have just fired.

"We just thought you should be aware, as he's your patient, that some of the committee were rather concerned about his mental health when he left the tribunal"

Now I see. So they've sacked him, he isn't too pleased about it, so just in case he goes home and offs himself, at least they'll be able to enter into their records the fact that they informed the GP of their concerns. Cynical bastards.
"Do you want me to do anything?" I ask.
"No, just so you know what's happening"
I make the relevant entry in his notes, leave myself a note to mention it to my partners and leave it at that.

PS- I have heard nothing amiss regarding the bloke with what the students thought could have been a pulmonary embolism. I therefore assume he is still alive- and well.
PPS- nothing further about the complaint yet, either. But it is early days: complainants can go to ground for weeks before launching their next salvo.

optional relief

After leaving things for nearly 3 weeks, I phoned to arrange an appointment to see my orthopod again regarding my shoulder injury. However, when I arrived home this evening there was a letter from him waiting for me. I quote the relevant passages:

"...Your MRI shows some degenerative change (that's osteoarthritis to you and, it seems, me) and a low grade capsulitis, which probably accounts for the discomfort you are experiencing... there is no surgical target here (sic) and I have duly referred you for physiotherapy..."

Which is good, I suppose. No need for an operation, as it will probably get better by itself given a handful of months. Personally I have never had much faith in the merits of physiotherapy; all I need is some pointers as to the best moves to make in order to enhance my range of movement, then they can leave me to my own devices. At present it does not cause me that much trouble, though it is uncomfortable to sleep on my right side, and I keep forgetting and making movements that do hurt quite a lot. But that's my fault for being so stupid, as is the whole thing, as I have explained in a previous blog. But the signs for the medium term are favourable.