The Walk- In Centre

Recently I went deaf after swimming (my own fault, diving and underwater swimming in sea water not maybe the best idea). Then after a miserable day or two of continually saying “What?” to everyone and driving people mad, my right ear became seriously painful. This was over a weekend, and, as it was all too obvious what was the problem, and there was no need to turn up at A & E and be a nuisance,  I decided to go to the NHS walk in centre nearby on the Monday morning.

It’s about five minute’s walk away, and I was quite prepared to wait to be seen. In fact, I was seen quite quickly, but the waiting time was quite an experience.

The NHS walk in centres are mainly for people who can’t get to their own doctor (so people not in their home town), or for minor emergencies (a nasty cut, for example) or for people who aren’t registered with a GP.

The sort of people who can’t get themselves organised to register with a GP tend to be the sort of people who really need medical services. So, in the waiting area were a lot of people waiting for a special clinic, and I think, judging by the clientele, it had to be a drugs clinic. A young man was continually and loudly complaining about having to wait, convinced that he had been in some way discriminated against. He was telling everyone he’d come about his feet, alleging that they were causing him agony,  but he kept getting up to dance to music on his headphones; and of course, when he was called through, he couldn’t hear because of the headphones, and the staff had to go over and get him. And he wasn’t polite, even then.

Then, the automatic doors opened, admitting a blast of stale beer smell, and in them stood an elderly and very disreputable man, swaying, and bellowing at the top of his voice:

“This is the best f**ing walk in centre in Nottingham! I’m telling you, you’re all marvellous! You’re the best in Nottingham! You’re f**ing great, I’m telling you! Do you hear, this is the best f**ing walk in centre in Nottingham!”

Then he tottered off down the street, the doors closed, and I was left feeling great admiration for the staff, who aren’t paid enough, however much they are paid, and a genuine sense of pride in and gratitude for the NHS. I’m so glad it looks after everyone, even people who don’t “deserve” looking after. I don’t mind paying through my taxes for it at all, and I bet that feeling is true of the vast majority of the British.

To finish the story – I saw a nurse practitioner and got a prescription of antibiotic drops for my ear, and can hear again, thank God.