Ever wondered what your GP thinks about you? Then read on (if you're brave enough)

From fending off hypochondriacs to battling bureaucrats and trying to help the genuinely ill, a GP's working life is a mix of the hilarious, the mundane and the poignant. Here, in extracts from his diary, DR TONY COPPERFIELD, a GP for 20 years, reveals what goes on behind those surgery doors... Monday mornings are hell, and the first Monday morning of the new year is hell squared, so it was with a sinking feeling that I nosed my car into the Senior Partner's space (I'm not actually the Senior Partner; I just like to live life on the edge). Our practice is located at one end of a small shopping centre; in keeping with the locale, our building is a squat grey monstrosity. It's owned by the Primary Care Trust which is, naturally, based in a gleaming new HQ which cost millions and looks like something out of Battlestar Galactica.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-1297877/Ever-wondered-GP-thinks-Then-read-youre-brave-enough.html##ixzz0utXLqwHX

(Elaine at the doctor's)
Attendant: The doctor will be with you in a moment.
(Elaine looking at her chart)
Elaine: Difficult?!!
Doctor: Elaine... You shouldn't be reading that. So tell me about this rash of yours.
Elaine: Well it's, it's... Y'know, I noticed that somebody wrote in my chart that I was difficult in January of '92 and I have to tell you that I remember that appointment exactly! You see, this nurse asked me to put a gown on but it was a mole on my shoulder and I specifically wore a tank top so I wouldn't have to put a gown on . You know, they're made of paper...
Doctor: Well that was a long time ago. How about if I just erase it? Now about that rash...
Elaine: But it was in pen. You fake erased.
Doctor: All right Miss Benes. This doesn't look to serious. You'll be fine.
Elaine: What are you writing? Doctor?!!

< /seinfeld >

What a great post - Thx;)

And a fine example of contagious stupidity with the *walking stick* conundrum. A walking stick cannot cost more than a few dollars (pounds) - but with the administrative costs of procurement paperwork - the NHS is probably paying $500 per cane. He could have found one in a thrift store!!!!

Those scooter commercials “and I didn’t pay a penny - Medicare and my insurance covered it all”.

No - you d*psh*t - taxpayers were scammed!!!!!!

Extract:

ARE ALL HEALTH OFFICIALS MORONS?

I’m really not saying everything was better years ago, because it wasn’t, but last week, I found myself completing a four-page, A4-sized questionnaire to obtain a piece of equipment for a patient.

What do you imagine it was that required such exhaustive documentation?

A dialysis machine, or perhaps his own personal MRI scanner?

No: a walking stick. After nearly 50 years’ hard graft on building sites, my patient Mr Haversham has a nasty dose of arthritis.

He’ll need a replacement eventually, but for now he can get by with some anti-inflammatories and a stick.

I considered the form carefully, pondering questions such as ‘What is the client’s view of the problem and preferred solution?’ (His hip is knackered, he needs a stick, but he would probably prefer a Learjet if there’s one going.)

Too much paperwork: Dr Copperfield has to fill in numerous forms just so a patient can get a walking stick

And ‘Any risk of self-harm?’ (I suppose in theory he could whack himself over the head with it). Then I scrawled across the form: ‘He just needs a bloody walking stick.’

Today, one week later, I received a fresh form, together with a bossy memo upbraiding me for failing to fill in the original correctly. But what really did it was the envelope also contained another form, asking further questions such as: ‘Will the consumer require an Urdu interpreter?’ (his name is Haversham, you morons) and ‘Does the consumer require a full needs assessment?’ (No, he needs, or ‘requires’ if you’d prefer, a stick.)
In a rage, I phoned social services. ‘Can I speak to someone in the walking stick department, please?’

‘You mean a personal mobility aid?’

‘No, I mean a walking stick. I want to order my patient a walking stick to help alleviate his pain, and you buggers keep demanding that I fill in an ever-expanding series of forms just so he can get one. I’m his doctor, I say he needs it, it shouldn’t need anything more than that.’

‘Well, I’m afraid we have our procedures.’

‘Stuff your bloody procedures! This man’s in pain, he’s worked all his life, he’s paid his taxes, he’d just like the possibility of being able to walk more easily and now . . .’

Mr Haversham is still waiting for his walking stick.

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