25 April 2023 (Tuesday) - Taking A Sickie

I woke feeling like death warmed up, but I do that quite often. But by the time I’d coughed through an episode of “Shameless” hawking up green muck I decided enough was enough and phoned the person on at night to warn them that I was going to take a sickie today.

Whilst I waited for the GP to open up I had a look at the Internet. A couple of my genuine female friends had posted that they have been receiving friend requests on Facebook. Their friend requests were all from macho army-type blokes. I thought that rather ironic that the friend requests I received today were obviously blokes who had photo-shopped their heads onto women’s bodies.

 

I had a look at my GP’s website. Seeing they opened at eight o’clock I thought I’d get there promptly and form a queue; you hear these horror stories about trying to get an appointment. I got there at half past seven and the receptionists told me that they don’t actually do appointments any more. It is all done by telephone consultation. I wasn’t sure how someone could hold a stethoscope to my chest over the phone, but there wasn’t really very much else I could do but go home and wait patiently for someone to phone me back.

I came home via the bakery where an ex-cub’s mum was behind the counter. She didn’t recognize me.

 

Just as I got home my phone beeped with a voicemail message. The doctor had phoned and gone straight to answerphone. I phoned the surgery and on finding I was forty-ninth in the queue I thought I’d pop round to tell them I was still up for a consultation. However the surgery I walked to this morning doesn’t see GP patients any more. I have to go half-way across town for that.

So I drove across town and told them what had happened. The receptionist assured me I was still on the list to be phoned and suggested I went home and waited.

I got home to another voicemail message.

I drove back to the surgery and explained there was clearly an issue with my phone. Phoning me simply wasn’t an option. They asked what I suggested. I suggested that as I was there the GP might physically see me. They told me the GP worked remotely. I suggested that the GP might phone me on a surgery phone. The receptionist then told me they didn’t have any phones even though I could see two.  The receptionist asked if I might borrow a friend’s phone. I pointed out that I was coughing up green gunge and that she was actively stopping me getting medical attention. She said she’d ask her manager, and disappeared for about ten minutes.

I was then invited in to a consulting room where a rather angry GP lambasted me about how crap my phone was, brandished a stethoscope and asked to listen to my chest. I was tempted to ask how she might have done that over the phone, but kept quiet. After a couple of minutes I walked out with the prescription for amoxycillin that I knew I needed all along.

 

I got home, and feeling worn out after the episode with the GP (let along feeling ill enough to take a day off work sick) I spent eight hours working on my current Wherigo project.

 

“er indoors ^TM” boiled up dinner which we scoffed whilst watching episodes of “Richard Osman’s House of Games”; a good show somewhat spoiled by the winning contestants clapping for themselves like demented sealions.

A pet hate of mine is people clapping for themselves.

I feel like death warmed up… my stomach really hurts from the constant coughing.

I’m going to bed.