Ben Goldacre - Confessions Of A GP lyrics

Mrs Peaco*k Like parents, doctors are not supposed to have favourites but I have to admit to being rather fond of Mrs Peaco*k. She is well into her eighties and her memory has been deteriorating over the last few years. Most weeks she develops a medical problem and calls up the surgery requesting me to visit. When I arrive, the medical problem has been resolved or at least forgotten and I end up changing the fuse on the washing machine or helping her to find her address book, which we eventually locate in the fridge. As I tuck into a milky cup of tea and a stale coconut macaroon, I reflect that my medical sk**s probably aren't being put to best use. I imagine the grumbling taxpayer wouldn't be too pleased to know that having forked out over £250,000 to put me through my medical school training, they are now paying my high GP wages in order for me to ineptly try to recall which coloured wire is earth in Mrs Peaco*k's ageing plug. Mrs Peaco*k needs a bit of social support much more than she needs a doctor so when I return to the surgery I spend 30 minutes trying to get through to social services on the phone. When I finally get through, I am told that because of her dementia, Mrs Peaco*k needs a psychiatric a**essment before they can offer any social a**istance. The psychiatrist is off sick with depression and the waiting list to see the stand-in psychiatrist is three months. I'm also reminded that Mrs Peaco*k will need to have had a long list of expensive tests to exclude a medical cause for her memory loss. Three months and many normal test results later, Mrs Peaco*k forgot to go to her appointment and had to return to the back of the queue. Through no fault of her own, Mrs Peaco*k has cost the NHS a small fortune. Her heart scan, blood tests and hospital appointments all cost money and we GPs don't come cheap, either. Mrs Peaco*k does have mild dementia but more importantly she is lonely. She needs someone to pop in for a cup of tea from time to time and remind her to feed her long-suffering cat. It would appear that this service is not on offer, so, in the meantime, I'll continue to visit from time to time. When the coconut macaroons become so inedible that even the hungry cat won't eat them, I'll think again about trying to get Mrs Peaco*k some more help.