Jonny McCambridge: A lot of patience and a little bit of push – trying to get a doctor’s appointment

I didn’t think a lot about it at first, believing it to be a graze or some dry skin. I didn’t get it treated immediately, assuming it would go away on its own. It didn’t.

I eventually conceded I would have to help it along. Skin care is not my area of strength, but I do have a drawer filled with tubs of moisturisers I’ve received in aftershave sets as Christmas presents. I applied various types of cooling lotions to the affected area for a few weeks. It didn’t help.

The patch of skin was becoming more problematic, often inflamed, sometimes itchy or sore.

I visited the chemist. A pharmacist looked closely at the side of my head, said the skin might be infected and sold me a tube of cream. She told me it should clear up in a week but to come back if it didn’t.

I put on the cream for a week. It did not heal. I went back to the pharmacist. She told me I needed to see a doctor.

This was the outcome which I suppose I had been anticipating from the start. I have no aversion to seeking medical assistance, but I had a strong sense of how challenging obtaining an appointment would be.

On a Monday morning a few months back, I dialled the number of the medical centre. The line was engaged, as I knew it would be. I tried unsuccessfully a few more times before giving up.

On the second occasion I was slightly more organised. I knew the clinic phone lines opened at 8:30am. I had the number programmed into my mobile and as soon as the minute turned, I hit the button. The line was engaged. I stayed on for an hour this time, hitting the redial number over and over. I could not get through and abandoned it again.

This pattern was to be repeated several times. There are a limited number of appointments available each day and they are all gone within seconds of the phone lines opening. I learnt that if I phoned later in the morning or in the afternoon, I could, with enough patience and perseverance, eventually get through – but only to an answering machine. The message on the machine was always the same, informing me that the health centre had already surpassed its maximum number of calls for the day and unless I was calling about an emergency, I should hang up.

This all left me in the disturbing situation of not knowing the best way forward. It is hardly novel to state that the health service is under severe pressure and access to services can be strained. However, this seemed to be a case of access being entirely cut off, stuck in the Catch-22 of a phone line which is almost permanently engaged, apart from the rare occasions when a machine tells you to hang up.

I spoke to friends about the quandary. I was advised that the habit now is for people to turn up at the front door of the surgery early in the morning in an attempt to get either an appointment or a call-back.

More than one person told me I would have to be ‘pushy’. I felt uncomfortable about this. By character and temperament, I am not pushy. Furthermore, while I had a condition which probably needed treatment, I did not believe I was sick. I felt guilty about demanding attention when there are people who need it more.

I eased myself into the next ordeal. For a few days I drove past the health centre at 08:30am and saw that queues were beginning to form. A sign had been erected near the front door asking people who did not have a prior appointment to wait outside until summoned.

On a sunny morning when the number of people in the line was small, I joined it. After waiting for so long, I found I was now unsure exactly what I would say. The woman who was in front of me in the queue was crying. I felt foolish and low standing there.

Then it was my turn. I stood at the desk and found myself pointing to the side of my head and stating that it had been like this for a number of months. The receptionist nodded and told me they have a small number of slots to deal with such cases. She gave me a date, more than two weeks in the future, when a doctor would phone me.

Later, I received a text message from the surgery with a link to a questionnaire where I was asked to give details about my skin condition. One of the questions was about whether I have the type of skin which burns easily or tans. Another was about any history of skin cancer within my family. At the end I uploaded a picture of my face and submitted it to the surgery.

On the day that I was to be called, I kept my phone close and asked friends and colleagues to keep the line clear. Then I waited. When I had not received a call by 4pm I felt despondent.

Shortly before 5pm, the call was received. The doctor was one I know, who has treated me before and whose children attended the same primary school as my own. She told me she had studied the picture of my face and asked me to come to the surgery the following morning. I found myself thanking her profusely for taking the trouble to call me when she was clearly so busy.

I had the feeling that I was at the start, not the end, of a very long process with an uncertain outcome. But just hearing a human voice, one which contained compassion and reassurance, made me feel better about anything which is to come.