Balmore Surgery

I had always hated going to see the doctor. That’s not unusual, I hear you say, as nobody likes going to see the doctor: that means you’re ill. Aaah, but you see, the medical practice I went to before changing to Balmore Surgery was particularly horrendous: you couldn’t get an appointment for love nor money (not even in an emergency), house calls were non-​existent and the doctors, bar one, were as unpleasant as you could imagine. I had noticed my fluctuating moods from an early age, but had never thought them severe enough to seek medical attention until I was maybe 19 years old. When I eventually sought help and got an appointment, I bared my soul to my doc, who simply shrugged and said, ‘Well, you’re doing a hell of a lot of uni work. You’re just over-​worked and a bit stressed’, then wrote a prescription for a mild anti-​depressant before huckling me out the door with tears in my eyes and an acute sense of failure. Stress. Of course. How stupid of me to have bothered him with such a trivial complaint.
Anyway, to cut a long story short (ish), I kept popping the pills and didn’t get any further assessments/​referrals, despite my moods becoming more and more severe as the years went on. I kept hearing the doctor’s voice tell me that I was just stressed due to uni, and that I really ought to pull myself together. It was also around this time that my dad was told he had terminal cancer. Now, had he been a patient at my former medical centre, he’d have been left alone, his terminal status meaning nothing to the so-​called professionals of said medical centre. (Believe me, I’ve heard horrendous tales from other people about this practice). He was, unlike me, a patient at Balmore Surgery and therefore the treatment he received was first class. He was always cared for by the two lovely doctors, the nurses and secretarial staff, who always made you feel welcome and at ease. House calls were not a problem, appropriate referrals were made on time and chased up if tardiness was an issue. They gave advice and listened when things got tough, and gave him, and my mum, appropriate contacts to ease the burden a bit. They made sure occupational health were in touch within a week of his diagnosis. In short, they made a dying man’s life that little bit easier, despite having to deal with a heavy volume of patients and cases, other call outs and emergencies so common in the NHS. His main doctor even called my mum on the night he died (a Saturday), just because she was thinking about us. How many doctors do that?
I switched to this surgery, under the care of my dad’s main doctor, after he died, as I now had an insight on how a medical centre should and could be run, and she, I don’t exaggerate here, saved my life: she suspected this ‘stress’ was actually a form of bipolar. And do you know what? It turns out she was right. It was thanks to her that things moved quickly, that I wasn’t just given any old tablet and told to fuck off. She made sure I saw the right people, and she even booked me in for monthly check ups with her, just to see how things were going from my perspective. We usually ended up giggling and talking about wine/​comedy/​books if I had been feeling OK that month and didn’t have much to tell health-​wise. I even gave her a loan of my Stephen Fry book collection — I could never have imagined this type of relationship with my former doctor, the po-​faced old tosser!
All the staff are great, and they all get to know you by name. The surgery is always super-​busy, but I’m convinced that’s because they have so many patients due to their excellent reputation. Yet, despite the volume of patients, the appointments don’t tend to overrun, maybe only by 10 minutes on a ‘bad’ day. You can also make appointments in advance, none of this ‘phone on the day’ nonsense which means you can’t get to see a medical professional when you’re really unwell. I also like the fact that they open until 7pm a few times a week, which allows you time to come from work to an appointment rather than try to negotiate time off which, in these times of recession, not many people are willing to do, even if they desperately require medical attention. Not many surgeries seem to open so late, so it’s a nice touch.
People are quick to criticise those who work for the NHS, but in times of budget cuts and the media constantly bemoaning a lack of patient care, it’s great to see that there are people who genuinely give a shit, and who are brilliant at what they do. Thank you, ladies of Balmore Surgery!