devil child

Calling in consults (reprise)

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This is a sequel of sorts to my post from early December, where I talked about the different strategies for calling in clients for consultations – the pitfalls, the advantages. It was well-considered and logical.

Here’s an example of why, in general practice, logical and well-considered can be about as useful as the Dalai Lama in a cage fight.

Oh, what a night

It was a busy evening surgery, one of those evenings just out to get you. You know the type – every vaccination has an unexpected behavioural consultation tacked on the end of it, every prescription check has a fed-up owner who wants this three-year-old problem sorted now, and every postoperative check has a complication.

My colleague had temporarily abandoned consultations for an emergency house visit and, consequently, the waiting room was very full. As I walked into it, a score of hopeful faces turned to look at me.

A cat booster. No risk of behavioural questions at least, I thought, as I cleared my throat.

“Pippa, please.”

A woman sitting next to a cat basket and her 10(ish)-year-old son looked relieved, and leaned down to pick up the cat basket. The child looked straight at me.

“You sound gay,” he said, loudly and accusingly.

Taken aback

I stopped, halfway through turning round to walk back to my consulting room, stunned. This was not one of the pitfalls I had considered when I was deciding how to call people in.

I glanced back. The child was still staring at me, and the mother hadn’t reacted to his statement at all. My playground years are long behind me, and it had been a long time since I had heard “gay“ used as a pejorative.

Now, it should be noted I do not have the most deep and booming voice in the world – to the point where, after I have spoken to someone on the phone and advised them to come in, the client will often say at reception: “I spoke to a very nice lady who said it would be best to get it checked out,” or similar.

loser
Bullying doesn’t only happen in the school yard, Nick Marsh discovered during a busy evening surgery. Image © pathdoc / Adobe Stock

Let’s just say I’m not going to be mistaken for Richard Burton any time soon. But this may be why I noted, with increasing embarrassment, that as well as the mood of appalled shock at the child’s statement, there was also a sense of silent agreement.

I soldiered on…

From bad to worse

In the consultation, things did not improve. As I extracted their placid and rather sweet elderly cat from its box and examined it, the spawn of Beelzebub in child form repeated everything I said in a high-pitched voice that would have put Dick Emery to shame.

Not a cupboard in the room was left unopened, nor a poster left unscrutinised or uninsulted, as the demon infant wreaked chaotic havoc throughout the room.

I did my best to ignore the tirade of politically incorrect insults from the tiny terror, but was also becoming increasingly frustrated that the mother was doing the same thing – chatting about her pet’s feeding habits as if I wasn’t being subjected to the kind of abuse normally reserved for nervous stand-ups on their first night with a tough crowd.

Sweet release

Eventually, the ordeal was over, and I as I pushed the compliant cat back into his box, I wished briefly I could follow it in, curl up against it and get some sleep. The mother opened the door and the satanic creature ran out to the reception desk, where I could hear him saying: “Oh my God, he was sooooo gay!”

The woman paused at the door, and looked at me. Ah, I thought. At least I get an apology.

“He has Asperger’s,” she said, and closed the door.

No excuses

I stood in my consult room, staring at where she had been, slowly recovering from the onslaught. Not an apology, then – barely even an explanation. Surely, I thought, if you suffer from Asperger syndrome, you find it hard to recognise social limits and need to have them explained to you, not just ignored? And how much can a diagnosis excuse behaviour?

I am not sure if any point exists to this story, other than I wanted my brief ordeal recorded for posterity. May you live through interesting times, the old Chinese curse goes. Being a veterinary surgeon can be many things, but it is rarely uninteresting.

I looked back at the waiting room. It was long, and many interesting consults remained. I opened the door and headed back out to the arena.


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