People will know that I suffer from a horrendous skin condition, called Prurigo Nodularis that causes me pain 24 hours a day. It is well known that it creates the most discomfort at night time and, so broken is my sleep at night, I have to sleep 3 or 4 hours during the day, just so that I can function at the most basic level and, rest assured, my life is very basic.
I was referred to a great place called the Lighthouse clinic on the island and finally I got to see a really switched on chap called Dr Ashton. I should add that although I was referred by my GP, Dr Hill of the South Wight Medical Practice, he never examined my body and just looked at the issues that were going on, on my arms and neither did any other doctor in the practice.
Before I had even started to see Dr Ashton, I was told to go for a blood test by another doctor at the Lighthouse, who was completely useless.
When I was having the blood test, I was talking about my condition to the wonderful nurse who was taking my bloods. She asked me to just raise my shirt and she saw all of the lesions on my chest. She was so horrified that she called in Dr Ashton, who had his consultancy room next door and when he came in, he asked me to drop my trousers and take my shirt off. Thankfully now, most of the lesions have gone from my chest and are now on my back.
He was shocked to realise how bad it really was and I was moved to his list. After conferring with a fellow lady doctor, I was prescribed Ciclosporin, which would mitigate the pain.
The Prurigo is untreatable, except for the pain, which is why he prescribed the powerful Ciclosporin, which mitigates the pain but will not cure the condition. My condition will never be cured unless the cause of my huge amount of stress that I suffer, is eradicated and maybe not even then. My skin is now so damaged that the pigmentation in my skin has gone and I cannot go out in even the weak British sunlight. I BURN
I was sent the prescription and I took it to my doctors’ practice that has a pharmacy. Due to the brilliant effort of all of the dispensers, I received my new medication and when that ran out, I was dispensed a further supply.
I repeated the process for a third time and had to wait an extra week to collect the new script, because I was in so much pain and could not leave the house.
When I could take the pain no longer, I went to the pharmacy on Monday 28th to collect my Ciclosporin. I was completely shocked when the dispenser, who I will not name because it is not her fault, said that she could not dispense the medication, stating that due to “certain agreements not being in place”, the practice could not dispense the essential medication. I was so dumb founded that I did not say a word, especially as the practice knows that I am severely agoraphobic and would feel really anxious in trying to find a pharmacy, which could dispense the Ciclosporin.
After calming down for a few hours, I sent the practice a message, saying that if I was not convinced to end my life before, this episode was the final straw that had broken the camel’s back.
Surprise, surprise. Yesterday I received a call from the practice saying that I had an appointment with the very same doctor who had never examined me, Dr Hill.
From what I am told, he retired from the practice but had been reemployed as a consultant; the classic GP practice scenario. This apparently crystalises his pension and rights as a partner. Queue a big Mercedes and now a fancy Range Rover. It is also a common joke with his patients that he is never there and is always on holiday; I have experienced this too, having to wait three weeks or more to see him, even though I am in a lot of pain.
I have no idea as to the reception that I will receive but I will be as forthright with him, as I have been here.
And, as to Covid, yes. Despite the new variant being no worse than a cold, you are not allowed to enter the surgery unless you wear a mask. It should be a choice, (that is fine) and not mandatory.
David's Diatribe 