The surgery fills with a certain demographic, over 60’s. Saturday, and today the flu clinic.
We’re checked in by a receptionist sitting in the glass entrance wearing a thick jacket and a blanket on her knees. The door is wide open it’s eight degrees but her smile is warm and welcoming.
Military rows of chairs, I smile to myself as I find a vacant seat the lady next to me looks as if she has just rolled out of bed. She’s wearing sliders and leopard skin fleece pyjamas and obviously not in the mood for any conversation.
Meanwhile the lonely looking man on the red plastic chair next to her has a jacket and tie, dressed to impress, his only appointment for the day perhaps?
I watch the information screen, how to get help without bothering the GP it seems. The number of other providers and services available is even for me a bit confusing. Seems you can self refer yourself to all manner of organisations.
Interestingly mental health is the major theme, youth services, bereavement counselling, the social prescriber, 111. I’ve never really had any interest in any of it until now.
By the time the clock shows 8.30 am it’s standing room only, and there’s a growing restlessness to get things going. On the dot a lady in a high viz gilet and gold wedge sandals (which I think seems an odd fashion choice) calls out the first person’s name, someone gets up, and suddenly the machine that it is a flu clinic rolls into action.
My name is called soon after, and I dutifully follow the lady in fluorescent to my appointed clinic room. I pass three ex practice nurse colleagues on route, they say ‘hello’ but there’s no chance to chat, each appointment is allotted two minutes and there is a long list after me.
‘Date of birth, well today?‘
‘Usual side effects are………‘
It’s a familiar mantra I have practiced hundreds of times in the past.
I just answer the questions and listen politely.
A pro, I’ve chosen my own clothes carefully this morning, vest top and cardigan, for swift deltoid exposure, unpeeling layers and layers of clothing was always guaranteed to clog up the system.
‘A sharp scratch’
There momentarily a little discomfort, and then I’m escorted out through the back entrance; the surgery is operating a one way system this morning.
It’s a funny feeling being on the other side of the fence. I remember well my flu clinics of the past. It was always quite a special sort of atmosphere, production line definitely, but I hope everyone was made to feel individual and important.
I used to love it, my main problem being avoiding been drawn into any other medical issues by patients who felt they had an opportunity.
‘By the way, could you just …….
Or of course
‘While I’m here?’
Two minutes is not enough time to sort out any extras and diplomacy key.
Driving home reflecting it feels like that was someone else’s life. I’m reminded how confident and capable I once was, I had a job I loved and was good at. One of the Nurses I briefly met this morning started the same time as me and is still working. I wondered how my life might have turned out differently.
Coincidentally the counselling stuff still has me confused.
I have so much to be grateful for, kind friends and neighbours who care. I’ve been given advice from all angles, one retired psychologist only advocating peer group therapy. Then another who has taken professional advice for me, and says I have to work past the barriers and defences I’ve set up to protect myself, understand where they have come from and learn not to always choose the same familiar paths.
ie keeping busy all the time to shield to shield my self.
As a result I’m postponing choir and PT for a bit, working on letting me feel what I am really feeling – though it’s not always what I want to feel.
It does feel like a struggle just now, but I have hope, and the sense of inner peace and self worth I’m aspiring to might just take time.
