Enter Dr J, back from a house move, and firing on all cylinders. Funny how a few (more) days out of surgery and a complete change of location and routine can recharge the old batteries. So here I have been the last two days, spiffy suit on, (OK you've got me on that one, all the trademark Dr J Smart Cash' togs are probably still in boxes and the suit holder was easier to spot in the post-move morass of brown cardboard) oozing bedside manner.
Goodbye Gregory House, hello RCGP approved Dr Kildare, or as close an approximation as a middle aged grump can get. I have resolved not to curmudge at the punters for at least a week. And I know I haven't told them this, and I didn't see it scrolling across the automated "Call In" system that makes our waiting room so fetchingly resemble Times Square at New Year. But somehow the word is out.
"'Ere old Jesties back-- le's go an' pick a fight wiv 'im!"
How else to explain this afternoon's cavalcade of un-resolvable woes. I swear some of them booked just to have a monty pythonesque "Ten Minute Argument", and at least one of the blighters wanted "the Full Half Hour". It ran something like this:
Ms Blighter "I got this shootin' pain down me arm. Bin there about a mumf."
Dr J (thumbing the intercom) "Janet, a cup of tea for Ms Blighter please, and something sugar free and healthy for her charming little one-- oh sorry Ms, do go on..."
Ms B "Then it goes like forked lightening all over the back of me 'ed"
DrJ "Oh dear. I am so sorry. Here let me take a little look. This might hurt a bit, but I'll be as gentle as I can..."
Ms B "Ow."
Dr J "I haven't started yet"
Ms B "Ow?"
Dr J (rubbing hands to warm them before attempting examination) "Still not yet"
Ms B "F*****G OW!"
Dr J "So sorry. Here have some tea, there's a biccie to dunk too if it will help. Now then. I think I know what the trouble is. You've a worn disk in you neck. That's trapping the nerve into your arm to cause the pain. Then your neck muscles have cramped up to try to protect it and that's why you have the headache. Lets try you with some decent painkillers, but if they haven't done the trick in a week or so perhaps you might like to see the physio'."
Ms B "Ow! It kills. Bet it's not that wot you said. An' anyway I 'ent seein' no physio wotever you say."
She snatches up the script and flounces out muttering as though I had just acused her of child molestation.
So this is my thanks for beeing all bright and chirpy and Bloody Royal Bloody Collegey.
Two days back and already Gregory is tapping at the door to be let in...
There's a lovely cup of tea here if anyone wants it.....