I recall being informed at some time in the distant past that now that I am over 75, I would have to have a Care Plan. Indeed, the occasion sticks in my memory for the simple reason that the doctor who carried out the initial interview told me she would have to ask me a series of questions, some of which would clearly not be applicable in my case but, nevertheless and notwithstanding, had to be read out.
The first question was: “Can you walk?” to which I replied (politely) that I had just come through that door, whilst the second question (and the good doctor apologised for this one in advance) wanted to know if I was pregnant! Later I received a visit at my home from a charming and kindly social worker of West Indian origin who told me that her first name was Glorious or Beautiful or something like that. The purpose of her calling was to make sure I had all I needed to keep myself well and fit and no trouble to the neighbours. It was high summer so we sat in the summerhouse (shed-with-the-overhang) and supped tea and devoured my chocolate biscuits for a few moments, until Glorious decided it was all a waste of time and she had best be on her way to visit another old person who was in danger of falling off his perch.
On entering the inner sanctum today, I was asked a question by the doctor (who I have not seen before as my personal GP was too busy to deal with mundane matters like Care Plans).
“Have you brought your Care Plan?” he asked, to which I replied that I had not!
“Were you not told to do so?” said the doctor, with a look of great alarm and consternation in his eyes.
To which I replied that I had not been asked to do any such thing and had I been requested so to do, I would have been more than hard put to know just where to look in order to find the document of which, the doctor informed me, I would most certainly would have been given a copy when it was last revised a year ago. And with that he said he would have to go to find it, huffing out of the door and not returning for a good ten minutes (I used the time constructively by reading my book - a Penguin copy of How to be a Brit which had me in fits of laughter. You should read it.).
Taking the scanned copy of my PCP, the doctor then checked the details on screen. I did not dare to ask why he needed a scanned paper copy if all this was available on screen in any case - for fear that I might be taken before the Head Receptionist for a good talking to, which would be painful for she is a Lady-who-is-not-to-be-trifled-with.
My next-of-kin needed to be changed to my eldest son, Graham, and the doctor looked askance and mightily disturbed when I told him I could not recall the full postal address in Dorset, but I could tell him how to get there by train from Waterloo. However, all was well as Graham was listed as ‘an additional emergency contact’. Fortunately, having moved Graham to the next-of-kin slot, the doctor did not spot that we now needed another ‘additional emergency contact’ for I would have been at a loss to remember Heather’s full address and post code, although I could have taken the doctor there on the 150 or 147 bus if he was minded to do so, which he was clearly not. I sighed with relief when I was not required to give Richard’s address in Norway.
I will not bore you, dear reader, with the intimacies of the interview. Suffice to say I was given a copy of the PCP in its updated form and told to make sure I filed it where I am able to find it. And this was said with certain misgivings that implied dire consequencies should I attend next year for a review - on 9th February 2018 I was told - unless I was clutching the PCP in my grubby little hands.
At home I have placed the document in a plastic folder and will shortly print out a cover sheet. The said file will go to a safe place, yet to be determined. I am not going to be caught out again lacking in the PCP area. No fear!
One thing I have learned from the document is that 'Smoking Cessation maintained - stopped 16 months ago from19-Dec-2005’ which means I gave up 14 years ago. Well done me! Also that I had a ‘transluminal balloon angioplasty’ inserted in my coronary artery on 02-Apr-2012. I did know that, but was unware of the fact that it was a balloon. And, as my Old Mum used to say, your learn something new every day.
