Confessions of a British Doctor. Benjamin Daniels
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Название: Confessions of a British Doctor

Автор: Benjamin Daniels

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары

Серия:

isbn: 9780007512195

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СКАЧАТЬ are always happiest if you skip the jargon and say it how it is. I find that replacing the phrase ‘stage-four renal impairment’ with ‘knackered kidneys’ or ‘mitotic growth’ with ‘cancer’ is generally appreciated. We all like to have things explained in terms we can understand and I just wish that our managers would write me letters in a language that I could comprehend.

      It was Darren Mills who first named me Benny Big Nose. The last I heard, he was spending some well-deserved time in jail. His straightforward and direct manner seemed to get him in trouble from the teachers and later the police. However, Darren, if you’re out there, I’d like to say thank you for teaching me the valuable lesson of saying it how it is. You usually don’t cause as much offence as you think you might and most people will appreciate your honesty.

      Proud to work for the National Health Service (NHS)

      One weekend I was doing a locum shift in the ER and saw a middle-aged German couple who had been involved in a car accident. They had been on a driving holiday around the UK and had crashed their car into a ditch. Fortunately, they weren’t severely hurt but an ambulance was with them within ten minutes and the paramedics gave some basic first aid before ferrying them to hospital. They were then seen by me and I organised some X-rays to make sure that the man didn’t have any neck injuries and to confirm a suspected dislocation of one of the woman’s fingers. The man’s neck X-ray was fine and I injected some local anaesthetic into the woman’s finger and popped the dislocated joint back into place. The healthcare assistant got them a cup of tea and a sandwich each and one of the nurses then cleaned and dressed a few of their cuts and scratches. Finally, the receptionist let them use her phone to call their car hire firm and organise a taxi back to their hotel.

      As I let them know that they were free to go, the German man got his wallet out and tried to give me his Visa card. I explained that he didn’t have to pay me so he then started giving me his address so that he could be billed at home. I literally had to spend ten minutes convincing him that the treatment he had received was free of charge. ‘But everyone has been so good to us,’ he protested. ‘I wouldn’t have got any better treatment back home. Why do you British spend so much time complaining about your health service?’ It was one of those moments where I simply felt an overwhelming pride to be a part of the NHS. Of course, there are days when I spend a lot of time apologising for the inadequacies of the NHS, but overall I still believe that if you are genuinely unwell or have an accident, there aren’t many places on the planet where you would get a better service.

      Sitting around with a bunch of doctors recently, I was surprised by how many thought that there should be a charge to be seen in the ER or by a family physician like me. The general consensus was that the equivalent of $10 would be just enough to keep out some of the time-wasters and make people think twice before pitching up to see us. I have to say I couldn’t disagree more. I appreciate that the NHS isn’t free because we pay for it with our taxes, but it is free at the point of delivery and I feel that is something fundamentally vital in maintaining some of the original ideals of the NHS. A charge would keep away some of the more vulnerable people who needed our help most and suddenly change the dynamic and mindset of the patients who would now be paying directly for our services.

      Drug reps

      Sixteen tablets of a supermarket’s own brand ibuprofen cost just 35 cents, while 16 tablets of Neurofen cost $1.99. This is strange to believe considering they really are exactly the same medicine. The drug company that makes Neurofen uses clever advertising and packaging to convince us to pay over five times more money than we need to.

      Drug companies are very good at overcharging us for medicine. In the world of prescription drugs, millions of pounds are wasted by the NHS because doctors prescribe expensive ones when they could be prescribing much cheaper versions of exactly the same medicines. How do the pharmaceutical companies hoodwink us into doing that? Again, it is all about marketing. Young and attractive drug reps come and promote their drugs, while buying us lunch or even taking us out for dinner at posh restaurants. They feed us biased information on why we should use their more expensive medicine and give us free pens and mugs sporting their brand. (There are now much stricter rules than there used to be about how much drug reps can spend on us doctors. For example, the free gifts that they give us now have to be under the value of £5 and when drug reps take us all out for a slap-up meal, there has to be an ‘educational’ component to the evening rather than a completely uninterrupted session of good food and expensive wine. The drug companies’ all-expenses-paid trips to ‘conferences’ in the Caribbean have stopped, too.)

      I used to attend the lunches and dinners. As I pocketed the free gifts and scoffed down the expensive nosh, I convinced myself that we doctors were too ‘savvy’ to be influenced by colourful flip charts and pretty smiles. The pharmaceutical industry, of course, knows that this isn’t the case. A few hundred quid taking some doctors out for dinner is peanuts compared to the money they can make if one or two of us start prescribing their drug.

      As well as constant pressure from drug reps, doctors also face resistance from patients when trying to change medication. Whenever I can, I try to switch my patients from the more expensive medicines to the cheaper ones that do the same thing. Unfortunately, this can be very unpopular with patients. Often they get used to a certain packet and tablet colour and no amount of persuasion will convince them to switch. One elderly lady once stormed into my surgery furious that I had changed her medicine:

      ‘You told me that the new medicine was the same as the old one!’

      ‘Yes that’s right, Mrs Goodson – same medicine, but different name.’

      ‘Well, I know that’s nonsense because when I try to flush these tablets down the toilet, they don’t float like the old ones did.’

      Drug reps have the cheek to claim that they are helping to educate us by updating us on the latest scientific research. This is, of course, nonsense as their only interest is flogging their drug and earning a commission if prescribing rates of their drug increase on their patch. They give ruthlessly one-sided presentations that show their pill to be wonderful and ignore the parts of the research that don’t paint their drug so favourably.

      Having finally realised that I will only ever get biased information from the pharmaceutical industry, I now refuse to see any drug reps. They hover around the reception desk like prowling hyenas, only to be batted away by the fierce receptionist. Not having the time or inclination to read all the medical journals myself, I rely on the local pharmacist to keep me up to date with the new medications on the market. She is a fount of knowledge on all the latest scientific research and doesn’t work on commission. Like me, she has the best interest of the patient at heart, while also keeping half an eye on the NHS budget. There really is no such thing as a free lunch and so I’ll pay for my own, thanks.

      Mr Tipton, the paedophile

      I had been asked to go on a home visit to see a patient I hadn’t met before. Mr Tipton was in his fifties and complaining of having diarrhoea. There was some kind of gastric flu going round at the time, but normally a 50-year-old could manage the squits without needing a doctor’s visit.

      As I skimmed through his notes, there was one item that stood out. In between entries for a slightly high blood pressure reading and a chesty cough was ‘imprisonment for child sex offences’. Mr Tipton was a paedophile. There were no gory details of his offences but he had spent six years in prison and had only recently been released.

      Mr Tipton lived in Somersby House. Despite the pleasant sounding name, Somersby House is a shithole, a СКАЧАТЬ