Anyone that has known me for several years and has had the joy of being on the end of my medical rants will know how fond I am of the medical profession – particularly certain branches of it. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love the NHS and I love Drs and Nurses and I think they should all have sainthoods. However, every now and again something happens that makes my blood boil.
So, I need to see a Dr. I have clearly forgotten why I avoid them so I gave them a ring to arrange an appointment.
Reception: Hello, how can I help you?
Me: Could I book an appointment to see a Dr please
Reception: No, sorry we don’t have Drs appointments
Me: O.K. Could I have a Chinese takeaway then? (only I didn’t say that)
Receptionisht (continues): You could phone at 8:30 tomorrow morning.
Me: O.K. so I need to phone at 8:30 each morning to see whether I can have an appointment that day.
Receptionisht: yes, that is right. We have nothing for the rest of the week.
Me: Great. Perfect. Thank you very much.
Why do they bother answering the phone.
I loathe this completely, it isn’t unusual that one can’t get an appointment at the Drs surgery. The greatest comfort is that the rest of northern Oxford are clearly on their last legs too.