The Crippen Diaries 2007 (Week 22)
It is school half-term at the moment, a lot of people are away on holiday, and so it is reasonably quiet. There does not seem to be much pollen around so we are not even getting many hay fever sufferers. Life is still stressful as the Crippen household is in the middle of GCSEs and AS levels. I have no doubt that all these examinations, like the NHS, have been dumbed down. When I was at school, few pupils achieved ten “A” grades, or the equivalent. Nowadays, some do. The exams are less discriminating but expectations are higher and so the stress levels for the candidates are unchanged.
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And so the first patient is a sixteen year old girl who has tonsillitis and who is right in the middle of her GCSEs. I start her on penicillin without even considering the “is it viral, lets get a swab” conundrum and then mother says she wants a letter for the examiners. It is actually half term this week, so she does not have an exam for a few days by which time she will be better. “But its going to affect her revision, isn’t it doctor” says Mum.
So I agree to do a letter saying that she has been ill during an important revision period. Do these letters we provide for the examiners make any difference? I hope they do not. My cynical daughter tells me that there is a point’s tariff for illness and bereavement during exams ranging from “mild viral illness” and going up through “death of pet”, “death of grandmother”, “death of sibling” all the way to “death of parent.” ****
I hope this is not true either.
The half of the class who is not ill have “tracking disorders” (whatever those are) or “mild” dyslexia. I always giggle at middle class dyslexia. Why is it always “mild”?
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The “choose and book” system started a couple or weeks ago. The older partners are being characteristically stubborn and difficult about it. We can still insist on using the “old” system by specifying “named consultant only” on the referral. I prefer that. Most of my patients prefer that. Some say they do not mind a generic referral to “Dear colleague” but they do not realise that the putting their hand into a medical tombola out of which they may well draw one of the poor consultants or, even worse, a “health care professional”.
Admin is now fighting back. Referrals going through “choose and book” are being dealt with more quickly. “Named consultant only” referrals are going by second class post. I shall stick to my guns. It is worth waiting to see a decent consultant rather than being shunted into a nurse run clinic, and if anything is really urgent, I can short circuit the whole system by making a Two Week Rule referral.
I hate it. The consultants I know mostly hate it too. All the personal relationship has gone out of the system. The salutation “Dear colleague” has a “right-on”, “we are all equal” politically-correct feel, but it is merely the New Labour version of “Dear Comrade”
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**** I lead too innocent and sheltered a life. The ever cynical Mr Eugenides has referred me to this. Un-be-lievable!!
The Crippen teenagers, meanwhile, have downed tools and are doing some sums. The unexpected demise of two goldfish and a hamster might make that A* attainable and if not, well, grandma is coming for tea...
Dear Oh! Dear.
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Thursday 31st May
I saw two patients this morning, both of whom have been discharged from hospital out-patients, and both of whom are seeing community nurse specialists for further care. For one patient it has worked brilliantly. For the other it has been a disaster. Well, I exaggerate a little. Disaster is too strong a word but, for the second patient, the management has been well-meaningly incompetent in a way that makes doctors giggle.
Charlotte is eight years old and has severe eczema. Alice is nearly eighty years old and has end-stage heart failure, or nearly end-stage. The only thing that would save her would be a heart transplant, and she is not going to get that. So she potters around her warden controlled ground-floor flat, getting short of breath on minimal exercise. Eating needs time, and going to the lavatory is a real challenge.
I referred Charlotte to the dermatologist because her parents were not coping with her eczema and had asked to “see a specialist”. I had already given (lent, but it never came back) them David Atherton’s excellent book on Childhood Eczema (if you have a child with eczema you must read this book) but they had not taken it in and were still floundering in a world of quackery related goat's milk, egg allergy, fear of steroids, inability to understand the necessity for moisturisers…all the usual things.
Severe eczema is a nightmare, particularly for young children. We do not have a specialised paediatric dermatologist in my area. The dermatologist did all the appropriate investigations for allergy, none of which were helpful. And then he gave Charlotte’s parents a talk about the “appropriate” use of steroids, the “appropriate” use of moisturisers” and it went in one ear and out the other. They came away bitterly disappointed that they did not get a “magic answer”. So off to the eczema nurse specialist, who has been wonderful. She has managed to divert them from goat's milk and exclusion diets, she has done wet wraps, and she has convinced them that moisturisers are the mainstay of treatment. The household stress levels have come down, and that alone may have improved the eczema.
Alice came today because the cardiac nurse specialist has been playing with her stethoscope and has told Alice that she has a chest infection and that she needs some “strong antibiotics”. If you want to make a doctor giggle (or scowl if he is having a bad day) start talking to him about “strong antibiotics”. Alice does not have a chest infection, but does have impressive heart failure. She is on ACE and beta blockers and diuretics and so I fiddle around with the doses a little and have a chat with her. She is relieved to hear she does not need antibiotics because the last time she had some, they caused diarrhoea.
There is documentary evidence that cardiac nurse specialists keep patients out of hospital, and that is a good thing. So why do they make me giggle? Because they are so earnest, and so well meaning, but their superficial level of knowledge of complex medicine is risible. They help the patients because they visit them frequently and ask them how they are. They act as the patient's "mate" and that is helpful. But if there is a medical problem, they try to dealt with it themselves before they inform the doctor. That causes more problems than it solves.
Patients sometimes do not call the doctor when they need to. Nurse-specialists do not either. They need to confine their role to being the patient’s “mate”.
In the old days, when I started as a family doctor, we had an appropriate number of district nurses. They were not nurse specialists in the new sense. They did not have fancy titles. But they were very experienced at assessing patients. Not with a stethoscope and Mickey-Mouse knowledge typified by hilarious references to “eliciting the hepato-jugular reflex.” (It is not a reflex). With experience tempered by knowledge of their boundaries.
When the district nurses called and said, “can you see Alice, she is not right at the moment” we trusted their judgment. When the patients were ill, the district nurses called for help. The nurse specialist does not do that. She gets out her stethoscope.
Nowadays, there are not enough district nurses. They do not have the time to do the regular community visiting they used to do.
Ask GPs what resources they would most like to improve care of elderly patients in the community and they would say more district nurses. But no one asked us, did they?
Which is silly, because however the nurses are structured, whatever titles they have, ultimately we are still in charge of, and take responsibility for, community care.
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Friday 1st June
A very busy duty day.
I stopped counting the number of phone calls when it exceeded forty. One was from an embarrassed house officer at the local hospital.
Ten days ago we admitted George, an elderly man with COPD. He was not responding to treatment at home. He needed drips, and nebulisers, and steroids and antibiotics. He was picking up in hospital when without warning he passed some blood in his urine. Respiratory physicians do not understand this sort of thing, so they called in the urology registrar. He did a rectal examination and told the medical houseman that George needed to have a cystoscopy urgently to exclude cancer of the bladder.
So far so good.
Then the urology registrar told the houseman to “phone the GP and get him to do a two week rule referral to us in the clinic so that we can assess him and get a cystoscopy”.
Unfortunately for the houseman, it was Dr Crippen who took the call. “But why don’t you do the cystoscopy whilst he is in hospital” I asked. It doesn’t work like that, she said. “Well, why doesn’t the urology registrar book him into the clinic himself?” It doesn’t work like that either, she said. “Well, why does the urology registrar not have the courtesy to phone me himself to discuss the case?”
He is too busy.
You probably do not believe this. It is true. Every word of it. This is the modern NHS. This is the “internal economy”, introduced by Thatcher, and swathed in Blair's bureaucracy.
"He is too busy" was not the right thing to say to me whilst I was idly passing time lying on the Health Centre chaise longue with Britney Spears popping peeled grapes into my mouth. I told the houseman that I thought the urology registrar was an idle, discourteous pillock, that I was not his secretary, and that I would not have anything to do with this except that I would be monitoring what happened to George. And I told that houseman that if George did not get his cystoscopy on an appropriate time scale I would leave no stone unturned to make sure that copies of the complaint, mentioning the urology registrar's name, went to the hospital chief executive and every consultant urologist in the Northern Hemisphere. Then he would be able to put the experience on his MTAS form under the “mistakes I have learned from” section.
The houseman giggled. She phoned back two hours later and said that the urology registrar had said he would sort it out
Idle, unimaginative sod. It is sad. Sometimes we are all shouting at each other. It should not be like this, but that is what the NHS has become.
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It has been a bad “nurse specialist” week (see above) and being the duty doctor on Friday is the time of the week when you find the community specialist quacktitioners at their absolute worst.
Community nurse specialist quacktitioners will happily meddle with patient treatment from Monday morning until Friday lunchtime but then, come Friday afternoon, it is “clear the desk for the weekend” time.
This afternoon it was the Macmillan nurse quacktitioner. She left a phone message saying that she had asked the District Nurses to go in to Bill, an elderly male patient, to give him an enema as he had abdominal discomfort and had not opended his bowels for three days. Would I “leave out” a prescription for some phosphate enemas.
No, I bloody well would not.
Why, you might ask, did the Macmillan nurse quacktitioner not give Bill an enema herself? Good question. Macmillan nurses do not do nursing. They do not like to get their hands dirty.
I went round to see Bill. When I arrived, he said “Oh, I was expecting a female. Are you a nurse?” I said I was the doctor, and Bill said, “That’s odd, the doctor was here this morning and said she would send the nurse in to give me an enema.” Bill thinks that Macmillan nurse quacktitioner is a doctor. “Did she examine your abdomen?” I asked. Oh no, she just said that as I was uncomfortable and had not opened my bowels properly I should have an enema to relieve the discomfort.
So I got Bill upstairs on the bed and examined him. He had a large abdominal mass coming out of the pelvis, stony dull to percussion. As I palpated it, he said he needed to pass urine. He went off to the lavatory. I could hear but not see him. He passed perhaps a hundred mls or so. He came back. There was urine all down his trousers. He was embarrassed. “Its been happening for a while, doc”.
I did a rectal examination. He was not impacted. There were a lot of soft faeces.
Bill was in acute on chronic urinary retention. I do not know how long he had been like that. He needed catheterising. I sent him into hospital.
This is why these bloody quacktitioners drive us bonkers. Macmillan nurse quacktitioners are far too grand to do rectal examinations and give enemas themselves. Their role is to tell other people how to do their jobs.
It is incompetence, negligent incompetence, to give an elderly man an enema without examining him. Macmillan nurse quacktitioner had been sitting on Bill for three days. If she had not been involved, Bill would have called the doctor three days earlier, and we might have been able to sort him out without a hospital admission.
But you can’t criticise Macmillan nurses. The media love them. The general public love them. They are the perceived armour that will protect you from cancer. Sadly, in many cases, they are the barrier that will prevent you from getting proper medical care.


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