I hardly ever go to the doctor…

There was a party. I had kindly been invited to celebrate someone’s birthday and I drank and chatted merrily. As the topic turned to Brexit I happened to express partial undestanding for the Brexit vote and quickly it was made clear that I was the only person in the room hosting such outlandish views… Oh dear, the tough discussion environment warranted more drinks I believe, and as the beers finished the hostess generously let me into her whisky cabinet.

The day after was very much the day after and I struggled for quite a while to get out of bed and then onto the floor, on which I crawled to the bathroom. Good that I never could afford a too spacious apartment… Then there was the struggle with the black dog who always seem to visit me mornings like these. How do people who drink every day do it?

Eventually and after hours I did, however, manage to take back control, just like the prime minister has taught me. A banana and glass of juice were had and I put my joggers on. Soon I ran fast and free along the water stream in Finchley. Good I was, the spirits lifted and encouraging glances with fellow runners were exchanged. Then, just as I geared up, a big black dog -again- jumped up on me and bit my arm.

It bloody hurt and soon there was both blood and profanities shooting out of my body’s inner sanctum. After having made clear that I wished Home secretary Priti Patel bring back her abandoned liking for the capital punishment and urgently apply it to dog owners such as the mental case in charge of the furred psychopath growling at me, I continued running and felt the pain spread in the arm. And possibly the infection. Great, sepsis; here we come! I don’t want to offend dog owners but it’s a fact that dogs eat shit (sorry, but it’s true) and I was pretty sure I could feel the germs spreading in my arm. It did hurt and it was swollen.

I tried to avoid going to the A&E. “Hm, I could steal the antibiotics and the Tetanus injection in my own hospital tomorrow, inject my self in the loo like some junkie and it will all be good, yes?” No, I decided, things need to be right and proper. Not least because I needed the drugs sooner rather than later to ensure I would wake up alive in the morning.

And so it was that I went to the doctors for the first time time in over a decade. The A&E at Barnet hospital in north London was full with gloomy and suffering people. Someone cried and someone else declared loudly that he “didn’t understand why he pays all these taxes.” But the receptionist was friendly and had just the right personal attitude. There’s nothing that can turn you off more than a receptionist that talks like a robot. The value of their work is underestimated. It’s their ways of answering, handling the patients, the voice they use, the little look the might give with a smile in between sentences as they struggle with impossible software on ancient computers, that has the potential of relaxing the patients and increase the chances of less meltdowns during the hours of waiting that is to come for most. This receptionist did all the right things. Like a real pro, she made it all look so easy, when in truth her job certainly isn’t one that anyone can do. Not do well anyway.

Reassured from this friendly and warm welcome into the, frankly, not very attractive, waiting room, I sat down with brought food and news paper – well prepared as always.

Then, after an hour I was seen by a slick and professional nurse practitioner who assessed my case and informed me of the status of the queue; “It’s eight people in front of you, sir and we have four doctors and three nurse specialists who work their way through it all, one by one.” What an excellent piece of simple information for a nervous waiting patient! True good costumer care is not only friendly but also clever and this guy seemed both sharp and smart.

Another hour and a half passed and then a clinical nurse specialist called my name, lead me into a bay, dealt with my wound, gave me my tetanus injection -the most pain free injection I ever had; didn’t feel a thing- and the antibiotic tablets I needed to take for a week. She was like a mix of her two previous colleagues. Friendly, personal, correct and with the both brain, manners, charm and heart. Perfect.

And, this being the NHS, it didn’t cost a thing! Amazing. Barnet A&E the early evening of the 2nd of February 2020 was on their very best behaviour. Respect guys, you truly were great! Thank you so much. And thank you UK for giving me healthcare completely for free. Crazy but nice![1]

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[1] I do think that this free at the point of delivery system is overly and wastefully generous and that a small fee would be good for many reasons, but this is not the time for that discussion…