...last week one had a darn good chat with Doc P (he's good that way) about feeling a bit thrown in the old belfry department consequent to the recent alarums on the cancer front. All fairly within reasonable norms - both the thing in itself and the proposed response.
"Hie thee to a counsellor," was the prescription gladly received. "Four month waiting list, sorry Rector" though is the rather lowering response when said prescription is presented for cashing.
That of course no use to man or beast - including man with low-flying belfry bats about his person - so back to Doc P for further cud chewing, with the intended outcome of some 'happy pills' for the duration.
Doc P sadly not available, so instead a necessary convo with a certain Doc O never yet before met. Decent sort of cove this Doc O, one is happy to report, if looking too young to be out after dark let alone physician to the tax-paying public. ('You can tell you're getting old when...etc., etc.')
Circs. duly explained his initial response, I have to own, somewhat threw me. Should have seen it coming - standard textbook stuff - but didn't. "Does all this make you feel suicidal?" he properly and promptly asked. Well in truth one could only speak the truth, so one did.
Now the next bit is all in the tone. Having established the risk, it is the job of the dutiful GP to enquire into the probability. Sensitive stuff you'll agree, needs some careful handling. Have to say that, all in all, I don't quite believe he hit the right note full on as I would have wished it.
"What's stopping you then?" he asked and I gawped. A pertinent question no doubt, but so put as if to carry the meaning - unintended one has to hope! - that no great barriers to self-immolation being self-evident, why not simply get get stuck in?
Can't believe he meant it that way. Know that he didn't mean it that way. Just wish he hadn't put it quite that way. So do the bats.
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