House Call

The phone rang. You know how sometimes you get this sickly intuition that there was an urgency in the call you are yet to answer?...These were one of those calls.

Mum had called earlier that evening saying that dad wasn't feeling too well. He was having a headache and they had run out of paracetamol. I had just come home from work, and I said I'll be there as soon as I changed out of my yucky germ infested clothes and had something to eat.

While eating, the phone rang again.

It was my brother. He was basically rambling words of an unknown language on the phone. I told him not to panic and washed my hands and took my kit of medical whoo haas.

As I arrived, dad was slumped in pain while holding his head.

Quick history of what, when, where, how long, why and any other symptoms, I gave him some paracetamol.

I hated family consultations. Not that I don't like giving the service, please don't get me wrong. But the burden on the responsibility of having to decide something like this was nerve wrecking. I usually over treat.....

Ok, but this might not be a good idea, as over treating him might cause undue stress which may lead to other things.

His blood pressure was fine, his neurology was intact, his ears were a bit bunged, and he hadn't had his glasses changed in a while...and that was about it.

So, big breath in, I said he was relatively fine. (Honestly, he had a headache, which could be due to anything). The advice given was if it persisted or got worst, to call me again and to go to a hospital that had a neurologist.

I waited for a wee while for the paracetamol to kick in.

It kicked in, and he was more comfortable.

Mum and dad are notorious with regards to compliance. They are both diabetic and hypertensive. What I say never have an effect, but I guess that's part of being the role of a daughter more than a doctor.

Dad is ok now, but he is very fragile. Any stress can tip him. And as the only medically trained, I am honoured to be the house physician.