Doctors

I don’t go to the doctors.  I am a man.  I shouldn’t need a doctor – I sometimes get ill and then my body repairs itself.  Normally I know what is wrong.  If I don’t know what is wrong, I search Google, diagnose myself and move on.

The last time I went to the doctors, Tony Blair was still in charge.  The phrase ‘credit crunch’ still hadn’t been invented and every single weekend I would go to Mango (nightclub) and there would be 30 good friends there.  Life was all about fun, credit limits were imaginary, credit cards were status symbols and there were actually hot spells in the summer months.

However I got fed up of the nagging, typed my symptoms into Google, clicked through the search results to page 22 for luck and quickly became very paranoid by the online doctor advising that I am probably having a heart attack and should pay $50,000.00 to send an air ambulance.  It is close to pay-day and the credit crunch has long since seen to my helicopter hiring abilities so I practised my foreign accent and booked an appointment with our NHS instead.

Conclusion – I have a chest infection.  Well, I could have diagnosed that but at least I have some drugs now.

I have to say the doctor was very, very good, pleasant, approachable, caring, calm and listened to me – spot on.  All the qualities you want in a doctor.  I was about to e-mail some good feedback but apparently the technological development of e-mail has not yet reached the NHS.

Possibly wise as I don’t want the Chinese to hack into my secrets of health and longevity.

I am suitably impressed with my NHS experience.  I will go to the doctors again.  Not that often a young lady asks me to take my shirt off.

I feel good.  Invincibility is mine.