There is a god of general practice. He is a proud and a vengeful god. And his ears are everywhere.
The observant among you will have noticed a hiatus in the customary output this past week. The thing is I am busy corrupting youth again. For two whole weeks I get to weave my spell on the young and impressionable mind in my charge, selling them a carreer in Family Practice, enticing them away from the Nasty Hospital. This leaves less time for posting and severely strains the Dr J batteries, but in the best of causes. Like I keep telling them I need someone to help pay my pension....
As I said at the top, there is a GP god. A warped individual with the sense of humour of a leprechaun. He watches and listens out for such occasions, and then sends his minnions to do his twisted bidding.
Take the duty surgery. (I wish somebody would). As a general rule the surgery is a procession of minor, self limiting, ailments with the odd bigger problem thrown in, but all of it fairly standard stuff. Till the student sits in. Then we have a freak show of bizarre foreign object insertions, sexual misdemeanours, haemorrhoids, and homicidal / suicidal depression. Often all in the same patient. Such was the case on Wednesday.
So I was dreading todays Duty surgery. Second this week (covering for a holidaying partner) and me dreading a reprise of Wednesday's shennanigans. But, by lunchtime today the duty surgery was pristine on the screen. A neat and tidy row of gleaming white unbooked appointments. Even after a Chronic Disease Management tutorial and a "Ward Round" at the local nursing home the screen was as shiny and white as before. For the first time this year the duty surgery had not one appointment taken by 15.00.
Then the poor sacrificial lamb went and opened it's mouth. It used the "Q" word. On a duty day! I'm sure there was a chittering laugh from just outside the window. And the dogs of GP hell were unleashed.
The phone didn't stop ringing. A flurry of bizarre and complex written queries floated down out of the ether, ambulance men wanted to drag unwilling patients kicking and screaming to A&E for having the temerity to trip over en route to the loo and needed "The Doc" to referee.
Still, it's over now and I'm off for the weekend, so overall not too bad a week.
Did anyone hear laughter then?