Doctor Doctor

I reckon the only people who take doctors seriously are the people that don't actually know any in real life.

Those of us who've had them as friends, housemates, family members understand that they have no more idea what is going on in their work environment than any of the rest of us. They bullshit, make things up, go to the clinic with such bad hangovers they can barely speak - muddling along just like everyone else.

They also, like the rest of us, delegate the boring stuff to minor serfs and minions.

No-one smart enough to be a doctor (even before they'd destroyed their brain cells with alcohol and snorting the OroMorph capsules) would have written the instruction booklet they gave me when I arrived for the first appointment.

First some fatuous platitudes: "People are afraid when they first receive their diagnosis". "Everyone in our team are here to help you" (sic). Well, no shit.

Then some lies. "We will respect your modesty". "Do not worry you will not need to remove your underwear". The nurse/assistant/whatever-she-was looked bewildered when I mentioned this.

"I challenge you to administer this treatment without me removing my underwear".

"Ooh," she said. "Ooh dear. I think we will, erm, we will need you to remove your, erm, your pants". I feared for her. I did not know how she would be able to do, or even support/administrate/whatever this procedure if she was already faltering with embarrassment over the word pants.

I stopped teasing her, it was cruel. "OK shall I take everything off then?"

"Oh no, not at all. We will respect your modesty". So it said in the booklet. "Just your bottom half".

I sat on a small square of green paper, naked from the waist down. My modesty however was perfectly preserved as I was wearing a neat turquoise jersey twist-front top from Jaeger with matching necklace and earrings, even a touch of co-ordinating eye liner.

After I had waited like this for about ten minutes, and two people had come in by mistake, I settled my elegant black and silver-thread pashmina over my lap to respect my modesty just that little bit more. Which was good, because I sat there for another half an hour with various people wandering in and out.

Eventually the nurse/assistant/whatever came back. "Is it finished?" I asked wickedly. "Can I go now?" I didn't see why I should be the only person to suffer. She won the round though, by smiling a pitying smile that made me want to smash her face in. I don't want anyone ever to look at me like that.

I took a deep, deep breath and tried to radiate calm. "Did you want the CD player before we start?" Ah, yes. One of the other ridiculous instructions: "Bring along your favourite CD". Bring along a CD you really like, so you can ruin it for yourself for life by having it evermore associated with these days and the green walls and green square of paper and the apparatus and its weird electrical hum. I guess they want you to bring the CD so you can't hear the hum.

"I didn't bring a CD", I said. "I forgot". I was lying, for the very good reason mentioned above.

"Don't you fret". She did That Smile again. Grrrrrhhhhh. "We've got a nice one here. I'll leave you listening to the music, the doctor is coming now". She sounded like the sidekick in Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman. She explained about the treatment by reading, haltingly, from the book I'd read before I came. The one with the stupid instructions. Outpatient Radiotherapy For Dummies, I think it was called. Finally, she went away.

The doctor arrived. She looked quite normal, for a doctor - although obviously I'd been hoping for one of the original cast from ER. George Clooney or I'd settle for Dr Carter. "Are we ok to start?"

"I'd rather you finished me off now", I said "if I'm going to have to listen to Enya every time I come. I can't cope with that".

"Oh thank god!" she marched to the CD player and took out the disc with a flourish. "Every time I hear she's put that bloody crap on, I want to stick a fork into my own eyeball". My kinda girl. "The Manics is best for this. Because everything must go". I get that, yes.

"I'm designed for life," I told her. We smiled. Close my eyes and think of Wales.

She explained it may feel slightly uncomfortable. We both knew that was doctor-code for this will hurt like fuck. "I expect I'll need OroMorph afterwards", I said slyly.

"Oh without a doubt." She grinned, put six vials on top of my handbag. Excellent. "Thursday nights and Monday mornings, my clinics".

I've changed my schedule. It's important to find a doctor who understands you.