–There are many ways in which a doctor can take a patient from hopeful expectation to the brink of murder, despair and a filthy mood for the rest of day.
The best sportsperson can have a mare‚ and the best medical communicators can make a hames of the consultation. The doctor’s lateness, incomprehensible language and patronising mannerisms can all make the client forget the matter at hand.
Doctors can also be on the receiving end of behaviour that, though the giver had meant no harm at all‚ can make the doctor wish they had failed the Leaving Cert, or at least stayed in bed.
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Here are a few things you can do, as a patient, that will derail any consultation.
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First, pick your moment. Lunchtimes are good, and Friday evenings are better, especially if it’s a bank holiday. A doctor likes to see an orderly spreadsheet of appointments at the start of the day, in the same way a bartender likes to have an orderly stack of bottles and glasses. It is a way of preparing for the chaos that is to surely come.
So miss your appointment. Then doorstep the doctor as they leave the building. ”I’ll only keep you a minute,” you say. Or, “It’s just a signature.“ In the past, signatures have led to war and executions and are best not signed on a rainy doorstep with no notes or computer.
The refined version is to make the GP pull a favour. They ring a friendly consultant or secretary and get you seen. For some reason, those who have been so favoured are more likely than average not to show up, and the next favour will not be granted. That is why most GPs have grey hair.
“While I’m here…” is a great phrase. It doesn’t matter what you say after that. Your doctor will be afflicted by a great roaring sound in their ears and miss the next bit. It’s a time-management thing.
The “handle on the door” problem is an art form in itself. First you present the GP with a variety of problems‚ none important but each needing a fair bit of time. They are the warm-up act. When you both run out of steam, you stand up, open the door, perform a half-turn and then fire the question that’s the real reason you came in. It’s important to hold the door ajar, then close it firmly when you are brought back to (both) start all over again.
A variation of this is the storyteller. “And I said to Mary and she said she knew a woman with something like that, was it Thursday she said it was maybe Wednesday because she had the windows cleaned.” Think of Uncle Joe, Kevin McAleer’s character in Derry Girls. This is all to set the scene‚ and let the doctor know how you sprained the ankle. The storyteller is actually preferable to the interrogation — which consists of one-word answers and lengthy pauses.
All doctors hate their predecessors when they are new to the job. Maybe because so many patients praise them, quote them and tell you how they did things that in fact sound immoral, unethical and downright dangerous with a carefree laugh. It takes a while to realise that your processor did not actually chuck out all those controlled drugs and lying sick certs and undoubtedly heard the same stories when they started.
Then there is the mythical doctor who colludes with centenarians driving lorries full of explosives. How is it, you say, that I know a man who has one eye and a drink problem and he drives a school bus by day and a lorry by night, and his doctor signs it off every time. This has never changed any doctor’s mind and never will, but it gets a whirl regularly.
Most doctors rarely get a holiday these days. If they do there is always somebody who will berate them for not being there no matter what kind of expensive arrangements they have put in place.
The specialist-hunter can whip up a fine temper. There can be a very good reason for going to see a particular consultant. You might have heard that they are nice‚ or convenient, and nobody minds that, but the specialist-hunter has no interest in the GP’s opinion and does not want any examination or investigations. They just want the letter. It can be hard to know what to write in those letters‚ actually.
Your doctor knows you don’t mean any harm. The best of us become prattling airheads when confronted by the blood-pressure cuff and the probing question. And don’t forget that doctors make terrible patients. They waffle, go off on tangents, make wild and illogical assumptions and ask for ridiculous tests. The medical consultation is like a dance, and one or other of the dancers will rarely, but inevitably, fall on their bum. All you can do is gracefully rise and start again.