Our pharmacist, Tom at Boots, is brilliant. Not only can he read our doctor’s writing (I think he most have studied the Rosetta stone in a previous life), he can think. Sad in its way as it probably means he will never make it to management in the Health Service. And we need more Toms.
J Boy has his annual CF review tomorrow at John Radcliffe. At least, I think he has. He has an appointment letter and I’ve played voicemail tag with the CF nurse. This morning though, I telephoned to double-check and got a voice mail saying she was out for a fortnight.
The medical secretary knew nothing about it. She wondered why I was phoning. Err…like we’ve taken time off before and spent the day sitting in a waiting room waiting whilst you tried to find the paperwork. No record.
But, apparently, this doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an appointment. (We have an appointment letter). It’s perfectly normal. Annual reviews don’t go onto their system, so she has no way of checking…..none of which made me feel better about chasing around trying to sort out doctors’ prescriptions.
J now has his Emla cream and the correct bandages. Thanks to Tom who made a quick substitution. My counter-inspection (Boots now start stapling the tops of the paper bags together when they see me coming) revealed that despite last year’s protracted correspondence with the surgery, we had been given the same wrong bandages we had last year.
So tomorrow we’re off…let’s hope we get the review over with and don’t end up spending the afternoon in Pizza Express again.