…… I’d like you to know how I felt after our short interaction this morning.
If you recall, I called because I couldn’t attend my morning appointment. I thought I could manage it with three children in tow but events conspired against me. Now I know I often cancel appointments, I try my level best to give as much notice as I can, I don’t want to be one of the 936 million patients that failed to attend their appointment last month, as your passive aggressive notice in the surgery informs me. I respectfully asked if I could have an evening appointment, at either surgery site, and was told if I had called at 8.30 a.m. this morning I could have, but they’ve all gone now. Now did I really need to know that? Did you really need to make me feel like a total failure for not knowing the protocol, which incidentally seems to change on a regular basis.
Now unusually, at 8.30 this morning I was still asleep. How decadent you may think, here I am working away and you are lying fast asleep in your lovely comfy cosy bed. Here is why.
At 2.30 a.m., I was woken by my child having epileptic activity. She was in bed with me, whilst my husband slept in her bed (as regular a occurance as your changing protocols). For an hour I battled to stop from waking the whole household, I watched Mr Tumble, Humf, Squiglet and she calmed down. Just as I was dropping off, maybe 3.30 a.m., my three year old walked in, hot and clammy, and clearly needing some attention. I then prepared drinks and medicines, gave up my place in my bed, listened to them fight and love each other consecutively, until calm. No sleep. Just calm. Just as I am dropping off to sleep, horizontally at the end of the bed, I hear “Mummy, I just peed in your bed”. Great. Mobilising, I sourced a large towel, a new pull up and settled him back off. Not asleep, but content. We must have been nudging 4.30 a.m. now. Again, just as I am dropping off, the little one climbs onto me. “Let’s go downstairs mummy, let’s watch Octonauts”. I suggest he goes back to his own bed, he agrees, on the proviso that I lie on his floor, on a homemade pillow bed, to reassure him. Off I go. Maybe, 4.50 a.m. now, and I’m lying on four squashed pillows, with a bad back, sciatica and sore muscles. But never-the-less, we both slept. Until 9.15. a.m. Decadent it most certainly was not!
So, now you know. I wasn’t being difficult, I wasn’t being “one of those 936 million” I was needy, I needed support, and help, and at the very least kindness. I took what you dished out on the chin and asked you to help me to get my prescription for my happy pills in time for my holiday. I ridiculously thanked you for your help. Seriously, I need to get a grip!
This lay heavy on me. I was not happy. I’m not your average mum. I’m fighting battles more than you, or anyone else, knows. So I took action, I will be putting some constructive recommendations to the patient panel. And, whilst you have now sorted this out, and politely and kindly advised me so in a separate phone call, (which I feel is a reflection on my phone call to request the patient panel’s details and maybe a little guilt) I still feel compelled to let you know how that has impacted on me. It’s not the first time I have been left feeling upset, angry, disappointed, and I should say it is never with the GP who is incredibly supportive. Nor the nurse who makes a point of asking after Aine. It’s always the receptionist. It’s not just one I’d like to add, it’s the faceless portrayal of the battleaxe gate keeper. I’m asking in future, please be kind, be considerate, be aware that your words may have an impact. Some people deserve some leniency.
Thank you for your understanding.
A tired, sleep deprived, stressed out, Supermum to a tiny Warrior!!