Doctors as patients – Back pain

– – The patient version – –

 

A 35y young man, slowly entering my consultation room.

Hunched over with a walking stick, with a look on his face of pure doom.

 

Doc I’ve done my back in, the pains so bad.

Take these painkillers I said, no need to be so sad.

 

A wimp, who probably has a low pain threshold, I thought.

Next time you should seek the help of a physio, I retort.

 

 

– – The doctor’s agonising version – –

 

From when I open my eyes, in the early morning.

The engines of pain fire up, and begin churning.

 

Undignified positions and noises emanate, as I extract myself from the bed.

Three minutes it takes to stand straight. Enough said.

 

I just about stop myself from uttering the ‘F’ word.

This pain I have had for 6 days, it’s absurd.

 

Will cauda equina cross their mind?

I can picture having to drop my trousers and someone standing behind.

 

Go to my local A&E…where I know all the staff?

No way I decide, I don’t feel like giving them a laugh.

 

‘No neurology’, I proclaim within seconds of entering my GP’s room.

Thank goodness he decides against a PR, there was no need for me to apply perfume.

 

Diazepam I demand, and an MRI if he see’s fit.

The tablets I get, but the MRI is not needed, not one little bit.

 

Two milligrams is nothing. Four is a joke.

Eight to ten is what you need, if you want to play your golf stroke.

 

I ration the diazepam, the best I can.

But their running out quick, I’m desperate…should I steal some from my gran?

 

 

But thank goodness, no need to self prescribe and break GMC rules.

It’s settling by day 10, and no more searing pain like 1000 electric joules.