Where the sun don't shine

I have known my Crohn's specialist for longer than my husband. We have a good relationship, I understand my condition, and he respects my opinions and decisions. I appreciate the constraints he works under. We have ridden the test/prescription/funding/admission merry go round many times.
I had an appointment yesterday morning to sort out some drugs and discuss the strategy for the tests I'm having tomorrow. Becuase he knows I will answer questions with more than a grunt, he occasionally throws me a medical student to play with a junior doctor on rotation. This mornings was a very professional and earnest young chap with an African accent. We discuss various things. After a few minutes, my consultant enters. I tell him that the letter about my procedure took several weeks to arrive, so in the interim, I rang the Gastro unit myself and booked a slot.

Him: So, 1.30 on Friday then..I'll ensure the red carpet is out.
Me: If you could. And I'd prefer the string quartet in the corner this time.
Hin: Fine. And the potted palms?
Me: Oh, as before

The junior doctor looks a little confused, but relaxes as we discuss the nitty gritty of canulas and sedation.So this time tomorrow, I will be sleeping off the finest Class A drugs the NHS has to offer, and hopefully be a bit further forward with the latest round of treatment.

Secretly, I'm a bit scared. I'm having an ileoscopy (camera in stoma) colonoscopy (camera up the bum) and endoscopy (camera down the throat into stomach). The first two don't bother me at all. I've had them before, and while I wouldn't recommend them for a fun night out, they are ok. It's the third one. I'm just not keen on something down my throat. At all.

The part of my brain that is rational knows that these tests are necessary and sensible. They will give a clear idea of how my disease is behaving, and any added complications such as ulcers, which will afect the choice of treatment.

The part of my brain that is still four years old knows that I don't want to do this. I want to go to the seaside and eat chips.

The part of my brain that is a gobby socialist knows that if I was rich and living in London, I wouldn't be having anything put inside me. I would be having a scan.

And the part of my brain that gets me through everyday life knows that I will grin and bear it and try not to say 'F***' in front of my good doctor.

A Polite Conversation

I arrive at the GP's surgery. It is quiet. And I mean quiet - there are two other people there. The receptionist is new. She isn't chewing gum in a slack jawed manner and wearing a tabard, but you get my point.

Me: Hello, I've come to pick up a repeat prescription and a sick note
Her: .................................
I notice her jaw slacken sightly. Does this mean she has heard me? As her eyes don't focus, I have another go.
Me: I've come to collect a repeat prescription and a sign off?
Her: Oh.
Very Long Pause
Her: So have you got one then? They take 48 hours you know.You can't just have one you know.
Me: Yes, I know. I rang up and ordered both on Tuesday. Today is Thursday.
The expression on her face leads me to suspect that the fact that today is Thursday is news to her.
Another V.L.P
Me: Would you like my name then?
Her:Er...............yeah
I give my name.A third V.L.P. She doesn't move. I can see the box with my repeat prescription and sign off. It is, at best guess, 12 cms from her left hand.She won't even need to stand up. I smile and nod encouragingly. Perhaps she thinks I am 'a wierdo'.After all, I am not wearing any gold, I am over thirty and do not have any children with me. I have all my teeth and no tattoos. I haven't sworn at her. I am not grey and shaking and demanding my 'script'.
A further V.L.P. She turns her back on me.
Her: Well, I'll have to look for it. Sighs. You'll have to wait.Sighs.Would you like to take a seat (this was not a request).
Now, this could have gone a number of ways, save for the floor to ceiling bulletproof screen and the fact I'm in quite a good mood.
Me: No, thank you. I would like you to look for my repeat prescription and my sick note and give it to me, now, please.
Her:.....................
The jaw slackens yet further in what I can best decribe as shock. Some doctors' receptionists' think they are on a par to God. I, however,think not.
After further heavy sighing, she drags herself along on her wheeled chair.And gets the repeat prescription and sick note. And hands them to me. Very slowly. The last person I saw moving that slowly was an in-paient on a zimmer frame.
Me. Thank you.
Her ...............sigh.

Some years ago, I had cause to go through a formal complaints procedure with my surgery. The were several problems, but the B12 was the last straw. I need weekly shot of B12. The surgery don't keep it.Methadone yes, vitamins....no.
I was told I'd need to make an appointment to be prescribed it. I would then need to collect the prescription, store it at home and make a second appointment to have it administered. Two appointments that would a) not be available to people who needed them and b) because of the distance I live from work, mean 6 hours off a week.
I was not a happy kipper.Things were eventually resolved, and I'd noticed a massive improvement in the surgery in the last 18 months. They've employed some additional GP's, who are excellent, and the appointments system has been over hauled.The phone lines open earlier, and there are a lot more clinics and longer opening hours. Trying to be fair and even handed, I was going to write to them. After all, I'd complained, so shouldn't I also give credit?

Then it took me 10 minutes to get a piece of paper to travel less than a foot.

Sleep and Drugs and Bathroom Plugs

13 hours sleep. I feel good. This means I can:

Go collect the prescription and sign off that have been waiting at my GP since Tuesday.

See in single vision

Ring my boss to update her without sounding like an unemployable moron and remember what I said to her.

Shave my legs without having 999 on speed dial in case I lacerate something important.

Except for the last bit. Because I've just been to check on the progress of the bath I'm running.I obviously need another early night, becaue the big bath full of nice hot water I was imagining in my head was just a bath with a bit of damp in the bottom. So I've now put the damn plug in and started again. And I haven't even had any magic fairy dust today. Oh dear.