As children, my siblings and I, hid every time my mother asked to ‘ see the manager’. It was usually some​thing​ minor . The number of times we walked out of places because we were not served quickly enough.  Then there was the poor check out assistant at Sainsbury’s. ( I don’t think Tesco’s was invented in those days). Checkout lady didn’t know what mange-tout was. The manager was called. You can imagine the rest. 
This week, mum got annoyed with her GP. The receptionist has a first class honours from Rottweiler school of receptionists. Mum was supposed to book her Doppler test online, she tried to, then gave up and wrote in the surgery message box. ‘ I think I am dying’. Result: she was telephoned immediately and a doppler date arranged ! That gave her time to pour a scotch and ginger into a coffee mug ready for her next elevenses zoom!

As for my complaining I have been tetchy all week. I have complained to  London-hospital-PALs, re lack of covid measures in place. then I complained about the lack of information regarding an MDT. A hospital manager rang. She had no idea of the facts,  kept saying that the government guidelines re Covid meant they were not up to speed re non covid patients. I even complained to Woburn Safari park on behalf of my daughter. A manager person rang me straightaway. The park is ‘following government guidelines’. Apparently they cannot insist on social distancing of the 2500 visitors per day. ( Down from 6000). But, they do wash picnic tables every day. What? the? F?

I do not drink whisky. I am not quite my mother. Yet!

Monday had dawned pissing down with rain. As instructed I had avoided antibiotics for 5 days, but my bladder was signalling ​an infection.   I arrived in post apocalypse London and avoiding the tube​,​ decided safest would be to walk to the clinic I have blogged about before. It is in a dark alleyway off Tottenham Court Road. On the ground floor it ​was, in preCovid times,  an STD clinic. At the entrance was a kiosk selling condoms​,​ ( surely a bit late for that​?​)  all shapes, colours and flavours. ​ But now in the apocalyptic world the kiosk has gone. Perhaps STDs are no longer a thing in locked-down London. Instead, ​I was asked if I had any covid symptoms and ​I had to read a well used grubby list of symptoms. Having had 100 texts telling me this was a phone consultation not a face to face, I was not convinced I should be there anyway. Eventually I ​got in. No temperature check no hand sanitiser stuff. Receptionist wore no mask. Erm. Is the pandemic over​?​ I wondered. I sat down in the waiting room and waited and waited and waited. and waited and…..
​To distract burbling bladder I walk​ed​ around a bit, keeping 200m from the rapidly filling waiting area everyone looked pretty ill. ​Chatting in a physically distanced way some of us agreed ​I ​should email a complaint to the hospital,​ about waiting and covid measures or the lack of. That worked fast, ​A poor nurse came scurrying round taking temperatures, finding hand sanitiser  and giving a long explanation of staff shortages​, government guidelines, ​ blah blah blah. Eventually, after waiting​ 2 hours, fighting the urge to run, I was called in to see Dr Microbiology Infectious Diseases (Micro). She immediately apologised, for all the texts saying do not attend​ clinic in person. Patients had apparently not attended, cancelled transport etc etc etc. Nightmare. She was brilliant, careful, listened, read the notes, and between us we tried to decipher the report from the MDT of 20th. Written by no one either of us have ever heard of.  It also looked like I had been an inpatient for preadmission tests the day before, ie Sunday?! The weird mdt report, suggested I see the Allergy clinic. For goodness sake went there ​been there done that years ago, sorted by Jerome, got the tshirt. At a bit of a loss we made a plan. MSU and bloods. She would ring with results. She would suggest antibiotics based on results. She wrote up a script for back up antibiotics and anti sick stuff. 
 With some relief I emptied bladder for msu. Did the bloods. Went to pharmacy.  There I discovered I was listed as an ​inpatient ​ie could not get the drugs.  I went back up to clinic. Got myself morphed into​ to an outpatient​. Back to pharmacy waited and waited then they said they did not have the stuff. I had to go to the main site. At the main site I waited and waited and eventually got the ​antibiotics and anti pewks stuff. Well some of it. They did not have enough. ​A l​ovely pharmacist realised I lived a ​long ​way away. We will post it. She said. Wow. I said. She in fact rang me several times over the week. She is awesome. The doses and plan ​she had queried with the consultant. 

I have not been phoned with results. Dr Micro suggested I try antibiotics and gent based on the most recent GP result which had miraculously been texted. With anti pewks stuff too. ​ I am on day 5 of ​p​ewky stuff. ​I do not think I can do any more days. ​Jerome meanwhile sounds exhausted and I realise I must be his mostest annoying and tetchy patient , except he is the only one who replies, who checks results, recommends course of action thinks outside the box. It was he who suggested allergy clinic years ago. He who suggested we change obsolete SNS. ​What’s more he has got the ability to make me laugh. His emoji for antibiotics and bugs are hilarious! ​

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