By Catriona McNicol, June 2018
There are certain situations that can test even the most experienced of GPs in a home visit; the clammy cardiopath clutching his chest as you enter the flat, the elderly lady with lips so blue from hypoxia that you genuinely try to wipe her funky lipstick off before you realise her sats are 76%, the young distressed psychotic patient who is a real risk to himself and his ever faithful mother or the angry, aggressive relative who just needs to vent at a doctor and you happen to be the one doing the home visit.
It’s just you, your bag, your clinical skills, your best chat and a big dose of, “you’ve got this”.
But nothing prepares you for that single terrifying moment which you know is going to happen at some point. That point of no return. That awful experience which ultimately makes you fear every other home visit you’ll ever do.
That time when a parrot lands on your head.
No words. None. I am a broken woman.
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