Get the fuck out

So today's amusing NHS related anecdote involves a district nurse. She'd been sent over to see me by my GP. To touch base with me. I don't like it that we're touching base with each other in this country now. I was OK touching base with co-workers in the US of States, when in Rome and everything, but we shouldn't be touching base with anyone in this country. We'll be giving each other a heads up next.

Anyway I digress. This woman in her blue tunic looked just like Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. She was maybe 5ft tall but very fat so was almost perfectly spherical and she perched herself on the side my sofa with her two feet swinging away beneath her. I was immediately appalled by her.

I did not offer her tea and certainly not a biscuit.

I cannot take health care professionals seriously who clearly have no interest in their own health so the plan was to roll this woman out of the house as soon as possible. I told her briefly as possibly the things I'd told my GP, about what I want to occur when it's time and why and she nodded sympathetically.

I told her briefly about my condition and history. She nodded sympathetically. When I was finished there was a few seconds of silence before she responded with, "and do you have any problems with bed sores, do you need a cushion?"

Bed sores? I've just been telling you the end is nigh for me. My lungs are essentially just filling a hole in my chest, they serve no other purpose. I don't want a transplant, I don't want resuscitating, I don't want a funeral etc etc and all you've got for me is "do you have any problems with bed sores."

In my head I told her to get the fuck out of my house. But I'd obviously scared her shitless with all this lung talk and she was desperately attempting to bring the conversation down to something within her level of competency. District nurses know only how to treat bed sores it seems and help people urinate. Everything else is far and beyond their comfort zone.

I explained I was OK on the bed sores front and she seemed quite pleased. Pleased enough to feel like she'd helped and could make her excuses and leave. She gave me her number and shuffled off towards her car where I should think she made for the nearest cake shop.

She remains of course the very last person I will call when I need assistance. The Avon lady will get a call from me before she does. It seems when people train to be nurses those who are competent are assigned to hospitals. Those who are a danger to themselves and their patients become district nurses.

Be careful out there people. Don't trust anyone. It's every man for himself. Good luck everyone.