The efficiency of the NHS

When I visited the doctor, at the end of October, which was the start of this malarkey, he suggested I go back in three months. So I rang this morning, expecting to be given an appointment in a few days. 11.40. I was disconcerted. I am scared and embarrassed about talking to myself to my doctor and had thought I'd have time to prepare myself.

I suddenly realised it was 11.25 and I hadn't got ready to go - I scuttled onto the bike, got off to fetch the lock, scrambled on and arrived with an efficient minute to spare.

All's fine, he peered at my hands and said to take cod liver oil and come back if I was worried (seems clear that there wouldn't be much he could do if I were, though), asked if I thought I need a new hip - I said no, it's not nearly bad enough yet. He said that he'd not recommend an x-ray at this stage unless I want one, as the level of pain you feel is not necessarily indicative of the damage there is, one way or the other. As soon as I want to see a specialist he'll refer me straight away, however. He also says I don't need to worry about osteoporosis until I've been through the menopause (and come out through the other side) but then would recommend a bone density test.

He offered to weigh me but didn't insist. I humphed a bit, which we took as a 'no'.

So I came home and weighed myself. Now, my bathroom scales show several pounds lighter than his, which is why I like them, but in the name of truth and accuracy, I used the Victorian set we keep in the porch, which you stand on and add weights until you get to the point of balance. This is a bar, not a tilty thing that one falls off. According to that, I've lost six and a half pounds. I am not unhappy with that.

Bloody pleased, actually.