Tuesday 15 August 2017

I still find visits to the GP triggering...

Every time I walk into our GPs' surgery, I get SO VERY ANGRY. Today I had to take my mum in to see a GP and - zap, pow! - my anger took off into the upper stratosphere.

My son, Ben, and I spent so much time in that surgery not being diagnosed with an eating disorder.

I, too, spent so much time there desperately trying to speed up his assessment for eating disorder treatment.

And, during treatment for his anorexia (which, according to his medical notes, was never formally diagnosed as an eating disorder), we found ourselves back there several times.

A notable instance was when his treatment team wanted him to have a full physical medical and the GP simply said "I haven't a clue what I'm supposed to be doing".

Then there was the occasion when Ben went along to renew his prescription for antidepressants. The GP told him that more exercise was the answer to depression. This, when we were working like the clappers to rid Ben of a chronic purging exercise addiction - one of the last things to get fixed on his journey to recovery.

"I wouldn't trust them to diagnose the common cold," I said to my mum this afternoon. "But, okay, I admit that's probably because this place reminds me so much of when we were here with Ben."

But it's true; I don't trust them.

Not an inch.

And the anger I feel every time I visit the place - or, indeed, anywhere else that's NHS-run for reasons described elsewhere in this blog - is HUGE.

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