…I am the limit.
It’s good to know your limits and, thankfully, my GP recognised his. He only asked one really dumb question before realising I knew more about my conditions than he did. (Note to everyone: if you know someone who suffers from long-term, recurrent depression, it’s not really helpful to ask “Is there anything going on in your life right now which might be upsetting you?” I was remarkably restrained with my answer.)
The upshot is that he handed over a box of tissues, listened to my “quick guide to Stacey”, read the last few letters from my consultant, then told me to phone him myself as it would be quicker than doing an official referral.
He knew his limit and stuck with it; the best thing a GP can do. It’s not a sign of weakness, admitting you can’t do something or help further. It’s a sign of strength.
It’s also something I need to remember, although I’m a lot better at accepting my limits now than ever before.
Some of you have been kind (and wise) enough to remind me of this through messages etc. I’d just like to say a massive THANKS for all your support. The best came from Lovely Boyfriend, who managed a quick call from the helipad of his rig as they were towed close enough to land to get mobile reception. That, plus the girls at rehearsal, meant I had a smile on my face last night.
Today will be a quiet one of NaNoWriMo preparation, knitting and waiting for my consultant to call back.
PS. Doctors are getting younger. It’s strange to think that I’m older than my own GP. Six years ago, there was one “young” doctor in the practise. He’s now the oldest…