Back to London today. The clinic in Tottenham Court Road. This is where homeless people live outside in tents and boxes.
Then other people are treated inside at the std clinic on the ground floor. The joyous sounding ‘freedom’ kiosk sells all sorts of condoms with names such as silky liquid or something. I can’t say I’ve looked too closely. There are never any customers there. The lady running it was staring at her phone – as usual. The security man was staring into space as usual. Anyone could walk in and no one has masks or hand sanitizer stuff any more. Lou has always said the best terrible terror atrocity would be walking in unchallenged into a hospital.

My clinic is upstairs it’s actually the travel clinic. As in those who have travelled to distant parts and acquired malaria etc. Not those wanting to buy a ticket somewhere. I’m there to see the very awesome Consultant Microbiology. Except she was away. Her Registrar, however, was back after #strikes had delayed previous appointments.

Weighed and measured once more I waited ages as the clinic filled with some really sick looking poor travellers. Come to think of it I’ve been bitten by mosquitoes recently. Maybe I should have said that there.

Registrar G was great. Lots of notes and explanations. Lots of form filling and keyboard tapping. It seems I’m to start their pilot of a new vaccine called Uromune. A bladder thing. Spray under tongue. Bizarre.

Alas the script had run out. #Doctors #strike.

Whilst that battle commenced I wandered off and got my bloods done. The phlebotomist laboriously writing out all the electronic paperwork in his physical book.

Then I went for a pee and flee. Or flea. Maybe we’ve all got flea bites? Mm. That’s a thought. But= urine sample. Again despite the electronic labels the clinic nurse hand wrote my name actually asked me
If I knew my name ?! I just looked at her weirdly.

Then it was off to pharmacy
where I’d had to wait. Apparently the fridge wasn’t working but the Tower fridge was. So someone was sent to the Tower. I offered but apparently that’s illegal. The pharmacy is in the basement. There are consulting rooms all around and absolutely no sound proofing. I cannot repeat
the horrible conversations but put it this way I don’t think they used silky wotnots .
Meanwhile so high tech is it that I had to spell out my name date of birth and hospital number for the pharmacy person to hand write. Then they wanted my current meds

I gave them my four pages of prescriptions . That too was carefully copied out / hand written. Not only but also all these are on
ERIC software platform which is EPIC in its uselessness.

So there I sat waiting for fridge tower epic eric to somehow get it together. I was given a paper raffle ticket. Number 301. What?

Eventually I got to St Pancras. Yep you guessed it the ticket app stupid bloody thing didn’t work. But hurrah. Hooray. Instead of writing a paper one ——I just got waved through. # common sense

Brilliant doctors nurses radiologist phlebotomists etc etc but the logistics the paperwork is superseding the clinical work. It does not make sense.

Now we ponder how inefficient this whole rigmarole is. Would it be better to ditch the Eric technology and go back to paper ? A retrograde step but seriously why do paper too? Is this the whole crux of the NHS ? Abject system failure.

The haemorrhage of staff is not solvable by money nor increased recruitment. The knowledge base the skills the wonderful clinicians need to stay. But they are exhausted. They were exhausted before covid. After covid they are burnt out indeed traumatised comparable to military warfare. What on earth are we doing to sort this out? More paperwork. More mindless accreditations validations writing out of computerised information for goodness sake.

A lot of political meetings this week. I’m shouting. I’m trying. I’ll let you know. Meanwhile I seriously am grateful for the uromune. Thankyou NHS. the point of it is still real.