Dr Crippen’s Diary

Tuesday

I could not sleep last night. I was tossing and turning in bed, careworn by all the disgraceful oiks in the world who are not doctors. I mean, how stupid can somebody be not to go to medical school?

As I lay awake, a pixie suddenly appeared in my bedroom. “Who are you?” I demanded. “You’d better not be snooping around for New Labour.”

“No, Dr Crippen,” said the pixie. “I have come to answer your prayers. Today I am casting a Master of the Universe spell. For on this day, people will all have to act according to your view of how things should be.”

“Oooh goody,” I exclaimed, clapping my hands with glee. “Today is going to be so much fun.”

I could hardly wait for the Sun to rise. As morning finally came, I sauntered into the office. In front of me was the practice nurse. Time for me to use my new Master of the Universe powers.

“Good morning Dr Crippen,” said the practice nurse. “I’ve got the travel clinic this morning. Lots of vaccinations to do. I’ve got a student nurse with me, so it’ll give her plenty of opportunity to work on her injection technique.”

“You want to carry out injections?” I roar. “What is this dumbing down of the NHS? Nursey, I believe your skill set is to scrub the bedpans. So get to it!”

“What do you mean, dumbing down?” asked the practice nurse. “I do the travel clinic every Tuesday. Anyway, we’re a GP surgery. We haven’t got any bedpans to scrub.”

“DO NOT QUESTION ME, MINION!” I bellow, “Find some bedpans, poo in them, and then scrub them clean again. DO IT!”

“But what about the student nurse?” she asks. “She’s supposed to be learning clinical skills.”

Ah yes. The student nurse. Not to worry. As a GP in a provincial surgery, I am of course completely up-to-date and well-versed in the current trends in nurse education. I can solve this.

“Here you go,” I toss a copy of Anthony Giddens’ Sociology into the student nurse’s hands. She looks at it as though she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do with it. Clearly behind on her studies.

I dial the receptionist. “Send in the first patient for their vaccination.”

“Why are you doing the travel jabs?” replies the receptionist. “You’ve got a waiting room full of people waiting to see you for actual medical stuff. And why is the practice nurse pooing into a bedpan?”

“No questions, just send them in.” I shall brook no dissent. Not today.

Later that morning, and I am halfway through the travel clinic. No quacktitioner shall touch these people with a needle. The receptionist still keeps bothering me wanting to know when I’m going to see my own patients, but this is of little concern. I am keeping up standards.

The district nurse passes by. Clearly she is off to spend the morning doing colouring-in of Bristol Stool Scales, like the idle layabout she is. For some reason she appears to have disguised the colouring-in books to look like wound packs.

“Can’t stop to chat, I’m afraid, Doctor,” says the insolent bint. “I’ve got six sets of wounds to assess, clean and dress. Plus Mrs Jenkins is too infirm to come to the surgery for her flu jab, so I’m off to do that. Oh, and I have to go and remove Mr Donaldson’s surgical staples.”

“Stop right there,” I order. “You’ve become too posh to wash! Have you not noticed all the people who need help to have a bath, or have continence problems? I want you to bath them all and change all their pads before you begin on your piffling wound care!”

“Dr Crippen, do you have the slightest idea how many people there are on our patch with mobility or continence problems?” she says. “I can’t possibly care for them all. And even if I could, how on earth could I do the wound care as well? Perhaps if you would like me to have a word with social services to see if their level of home carer support is appropriate…”

“Silence! During the night a pixie appeared to me and granted me a Master of the Universe spell. You shall do my bidding!”

She folds her arms, “I see. The Master of the Universe Pixie again, is it? That reminds me. The CPN left a message for you. He says he needs to see you urgently as your fortnightly injection of Risperdal Consta is overdue…”

This is too much insolence. “I will not be lectured to on the existence of Master of the Universe Pixies by some jumped-up nurse specialist! Quack me no quacktitioning! You see, I am a doctor. That means that, unlike people who do not believe in Master of the Universe Pixies, I have insight!”

She retreats, forced to obey my will.

The day ends. I have completed all the holiday vaccinations, and also a host of routine blood pressure checks and diabetes monitoring. Unfortunately this means I still have not been able to see any of my own patients, with the result that one of them keeled over and died in reception. There are also a few messages for me. One is that several people are complaining that nobody has been round to change their wound dressings and some of the wounds are starting to look septic, and also another message says that since the district nurse is going round the neighbourhood doing all the bathing and pad-changing, then social services will be withdrawing the social care support for those clients as they clearly don’t need it any more. The DN can do it all again tomorrow, and forever. Never mind the silly wounds that appear to be now oozing something resembling custard.

All is now well. Standards have been maintaining. For a day, the forces of dumbing-down have been checked.

If only all days were like today.