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Miserable Old Git, Moaning and Methotrexate

Simon Wilson, Nottingham Poet

Simon Wilson, Nottingham Poet

Julia picked up my methotrexate earlier in the week. It’s for my arthritis and acts by supressing my immune system, which is what is causing the problem. Well, that, my weight and 45 years of manual labour. There was a note on the form that came with the pills, saying that I was behind with my blood tests and they would not dispense more until I was up to date. They worry about it destroying my liver. There is no such thing as a simple drug, they all come with side effects.

Anyway, last time I had a note like that it took weeks to sort out and then a month or more to return my fingers to a reasonable condition after missing the medication. I don’t want that again.

I’m not sure if I covered this in the blog before, but over the last three months I have been arguing about it with the pharmacy and wrangling with the GP surgery to have the inaccurate note removed. I was up to date when it first appeared on the form and have remained up to date – even having two goes at the last one when the laboratory had to retest due to “technical reasons”.  I’m not sure what the “technical reasons” were, but it makes a good excuse.

I have just written an email to the surgery asking for the record to be corrected, citing my previous email on the subject (because I have now started filing all my dealings with them) and asking that they reply to confirm they have made the necessary correction.

I am now taking things more seriously, being fed up with shoddy record keeping and the rest of the things that are happening (appointments disappearing from the system, prescriptions sent to the wrong place etc).It is time to sort things out.

Meanwhile, as our Glorious Leader launches “Plan B” to divert attention from the Christmas party scandal, we have a strange situation. We can’t hold Numismatic Society meetings (twenty middle-aged men meeting to talk about coins), due to “Plan B restrictions”. Boris didn’t mention this, but that’s what the owner of the meeting room says. However, under Plan B, football matches, bars, clubs and restaurants are all still allowed to operate.

Of course, if I’d been in charge it wouldn’t have been Plan B, as Plan B lacks gravitas, being the name of a rapper and reminding me of Bela Lugosi’s last film. Even without that, there are just too many words that begin with B that could be used in a disrespectful fashion.

However, that may just be me.

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