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Gold, incentives and meh

Doc in the hot seat

I met a mad granny today. I know this may not strike you as unusual, but this wasn't the usual prelude to a psychogeriatric referral. This was the good old-fashioned crazy-as-a-loon, lets nothing-stand-in-the-way, the sort that made Britain great. The sort who doesn't care what anyone thinks, and just gets on with things. Obviously this spirit is being bred out of the nation by our increasingly litigious culture.

I was being 'hot doc'. I wish it was as racy as it sounds: vibrant, dynamic, and with a whiff of sexual frisson. It isn't any of those things: it's triage and fall guy for all of those jobs that aren't really anyone's job, but still need doing.

A call came through just as I'd started surgery. An old lady had fallen in the street. A passer-by had called an ambulance, but when it arrived the old girl had refused to be taken to hospital. Now the caller wanted me to pop out and see the lady. I was a bit miffed, choosing to look at it as a demand for instant service at the patient's convenience, and never mind the others in the waiting room. I told our receptionist to get them to come in at the end of the surgery.

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