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Back to see the GP

June 1, 2011

I went back to see my GP yesterday, mainly because it’s been a while and I wanted to fill him in on the latest and also to clarify the questions I had for the doctor in MAU on Sunday (that obviously didn’t get answered).

I doubt I’m flavour of the month with other patients at the GP surgery – routine appointment times tend to go out of the window as Dr Musson sits and has a lengthy chat with me. We discussed how things are going, including my state of mind… he quite politely tried to ask without offending me whether I’d had enough… I soon twigged what he was referring to, “Suicide? No I’m not suicidal; I’m just pissed off, anxious, frustrated, scared and stressed”.

We spoke about anti depressants, and both agreed that they should be a last resort. The stupid thing is I know there is a normal life to get back, how much normality doesn’t really matter as far as I’m concerned at the moment. The intelligent and rational part of me says, its London, there’s one professor and people from all of the UK and Europe waiting to have the same tests done, so there’s bound to be a 4-5 month waiting list. But that doesn’t mean I have to accept it, and in truth, I can’t. The other part of me, can’t get my head round the fact that I have these fitting episodes, and the solution is medication that only London can give, yet I’m expected to suffer in the meantime!?

As I said to Dr Musson, I spend every second of the day waiting for a phone call or a letter to drop through the door. Once the post has been, I wait for a phone call, after that I get up the next day and do the same. I feel like I’m just ‘existing’ and not ‘living’.

We spoke about the best course of action to take when I have another seizure and he agreed that Diazepam is not the best thing to keep having, despite its massive benefits at lowering the tachycardia and muscle spasms within seconds of the injection. Instead we loosely agreed that I should just take the gas and air to relieve the pain and then ride out the fitting in A+E.

He has offered to write an urgent letter to Professor Mathias, in the hope that it may help, but certainly won’t hurt, and I’ll leave it a week and probably do the same, apart from that, there’s not much anyone can do.

The obvious solution, in reality, is actually quite simple. Stick me in an Ambulance, take me to London, do the tests, and begin trialling medication, but that’s not the real world. I sometimes wish Holby City actually existed, they always seem to get things done within the hour… mind you whenever someone goes tachycardic on there, they usually end up popping their clogs!

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