I’ve been struggling with some wheeziness and a fairly grim cough that just won’t go away recently. Living in Cornwall is lovely (most of the time), but some rented properties we’ve stayed in have had more than their fair share of mould spores (there’s a bit of damp around in the walls…. sea fret etc…!) which it’s fair to say hasn’t helped my lungs.

So I bit the bullet and decided I ought to see my local quack – you know, just to get it checked out…… but only because I should, not because I really wanted to – after all, what do they know?… It’s just a cough; it’ll go, won’t it?

I can sometimes feel quite unsettled when I ‘become’ a patient and have to move from one side of the fence to the other.  Does your GP improve his/her bedside manner because they know what you do for a living, or worse still, having no option but to see a GP you work with, which can cause some issues. Thank goodness it was only my lungs he was listening to!

I know that excess weight doesn’t help your lungs when you’re struggling for breath and I’m trying to eat more healthily and improve my exercise levels.  I’m failing on every level, but I reassure myself that at least I have a goal!  My cake baking has recently increased, much to my hubby’s delight (and totally connected to my love of Bake Off) and there is something delightful about eating cake – but I’ve just read that the Oral Health Foundation has decided in its wisdom that all cake is “POISON”!  Isn’t that taking things a tad too far?  I know there is more sugar in that slice of cake that I really ought to be ingesting, but come on… it’s only one slice… for now…

Anyway, before any sort of referral could be undertaken, the doc had to record my height and weight – apparently the comment “short and fat” isn’t read-codable, although maybe SNOMED might have something that I could use! I declined to look at the scales on the grounds that my stress levels were already high enough and I really didn’t want to complete a PHQ-9 either – my low mood is entirely caused by the deprivation of cake/chocolate/alcohol, and my eyes catching the readout on the scales…(surely he’s got his foot on them as well, as that reading definitely CAN’T be right!)  And he’s really only recording the measurements so he can code a health check at the same time… I know his game.

I’ve now become a ‘proper’ patient – bloods, a chest X-ray, a review by the quack and a necessary monthly prescription for inhaled steroids which although might make me feel better, will certainly hit me in the pocket.  Fortunately, I can stay in the privacy of my office while I wait for the GP to call me… not for me the gloom and doom of the waiting room, which is currently freezing cold because the heater isn’t working and the electrician STILL hasn’t turned up – he said Tuesday, but I didn’t clarify exactly WHICH Tuesday!

The terrifying thought that my age is finally catching up with me hit me like a bolt virtually at the same time as the needle went in. When did I become so old? Will my brain follow my stomach and droop its way southwards? Am I really not immortal?!

I’m not normally so maudlin but all this ageing business is getting on my nerves.  I’m now officially part of the QOF Register. Me! I know! Who’d have thought it would come to that?  I didn’t have any spare time to go through the menopause so I’m damned if this is going to slow me down… unless I’m climbing a hill and then, of course, it absolutely will do!

Anyway, on a lighter note, it’s Edith’s birthday today (and it’s a big one with a zero at the end) so I’d better have a slice of cake, you know, just to show willing.

Oh hang on… wasn’t one of those blood tests a wretched HbA1c?

Just my luck!

By Nicola Davies