I have previously blogged about a radiographer re-dislocating Plan B’s shoulder following a regular run in Hyde Park. Last week Natasha joined a surgery that I had recommended purely because of its proximity to our workplace in Amsterdam. I sent her a picture of the doctor’s room – it looked like a rather shabby (note: not chic) lounge complete with the makings of breakfast in a Tupperware tub sitting proudly among family photos on the shelf above the computer. ‘Will there be a proper room for when we need anything more than a repeat prescription?’ I had asked a Dutch friend whose father is a GP.
‘Yes, there will be a proper medical room in the surgery,’ she assured me.

Fortunately, once Natasha had explained her symptoms she was taken to another room during her first appointment. However, the doctor was unsure whether she needed to give a urine sample or to have an examination only. Moreover, he conferred with the rather unkempt-looking receptionist who had entered the room – unsurprisingly, she wasn’t sure of the best approach either. ‘You’re young – just go and have fun,’ the doctor advised before leaving the receptionist alone with a confused patient.

The receptionist put on some surgical gloves. ‘Are you a nurse?’ Natasha asked suspiciously.
‘No.’
‘Have you had any medical training?’
‘No, but the doctor has shown me what to do,’ she said while preparing a swab. The phone rang just as the receptionist commenced her examination. She readjusted her headphones, took the call and continued her work. This was the final straw. After the call ended, Natasha politely negotiated with the doctor and his assistant, and eventually left the surgery with the details of a specialist.

Just as Plan B’s painful ordeal at the hospital had provoked much laughter among friends, so had Natasha’s story of her experience at the surgery during book swap/booze club. The aforementioned Dutch friend, from whom I had previously sought advice, admitted that it was quite ‘normal’ for her mum to come and help her father out at his surgery. Cue more laughter. I guess all entertaining stories start with a regular event and much of everyday life is filled with common mishaps.