Calling in consults (reprise)

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.

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.