The GP stands at the door of his room,
shakes my hand, asks me how I am.
I always smile and say fine, except for…
this niggling problem
or I’m just here for a checkup
or a repeat prescription
or something.
He listens.
He’s a cautious man,
gets me tested
just in case: ‘Let’s be sure.’
He sounds me out about an ongoing condition:
if I can live with it
he can live with it.
‘As long as you can do the things
you want to do.’
He knows I’m a worrier.
I don’t feel rushed.
It’s a conversation.
It all seems as it should be.
Hamish Whyte
Hebridean Adventures in Realistic Medicine 