Short Story 5- "Memo: Dr James Spratt is not in favour of homeopathic medicine".

Dr James Spratt leads a solitary existence. He has decided this is the best way to live one’s life and to keep one’s sanity. Dr Spratt’s patients at his GP practice disagree. They would argue his solitary existence has the counter effect he was hoping for and he is actually stark raving mad and an overall miserable old man. It is for this reason that Dr Spratt has had an influx of older women on his patient list over the last few years. Dr Spratt to this day does not understand the reason. He mentioned it to Martha the receptionist once but she shrugged her shoulders and suggested it was a coincidence. Strange, she said, I wonder why that is. And they’re such lovely women too. Dr Spratt grunted and left as confused as he came.

At sixty years old, Dr Spratt is in denial about his impending retirement. He is the only GP at the practice over fifty who is still currently in full time employment. Gradually, the older practitioners at Dr Spratt’s practice have gone through the motions of getting married, having children, getting divorced, watching their children go to university and have now packed up their lives to live in the countryside where no one complains of clinical depression, mental health, obesity and most importantly Wi-Fi is non-existent. Dr Spratt however, is unmarried, childless and living in the city.

The Chatfield Health Care Centre has five full time GPs. Gemma Paisley is Dr Spratt’s worst nightmare. She has been at the practice for ten years now and insists on wearing this old yellow gaudy sweater which smells of moth balls that Dr Spratt despises. He has told her on many occasions that yellow is most definitely not her colour but Gemma always laughs and shoves his shoulder affectionately. Oh, you are hilarious, she guffaws. Harold, the newest recruit at thirty years old, is the youngest of Dr Spratt’s colleagues. Like Spratt, Harold detests Gemma’s sweater, but decides communicating with her would waste valuable time he could spend scowling at her instead. Dr Spratt won’t admit it but he is envious of Harold’s youth and suspects that Harold is secretly waiting for him to ‘cross over’. Chrissie is the peacemaker in the practice who never actually achieves peace. Bobby Patel is the most recent addition, the token ethnic minority. The board instructed Dr Spratt to employ more ‘ethnically diverse’ staff. When Dr Spratt first met Bobby and shook his hand, he was surprised at how un-ethnic he looked.

All four of the Chatfield staff have been enquiring about Dr Spratt’s plans for the future. Harold has been leaving travel brochures on the kitchen counter- ‘Pensioner’s Paradise’ and ‘The Final Voyage’. If it didn’t take him five minutes to raise his hand, Dr Spratt is convinced that he could punch Harold on the nose. Chrissie, the do-gooder that she is, pops into his office regularly to see that he’s okay or if he needs anything. Sometimes he’ll hear the sound of her heels pad across the carpet as she approaches the door of his office and he’ll shout out, I’m alright, Dr Ward. There is always a sigh of relief and the sound of hurried footsteps as she retreats.

Today, Dr Spratt is feeling especially cranky. He has been seeing patients since ten in the morning and his legs feel so numb that he has to look down at them constantly to see if they’re still there. The patient he is seeing now is being particularly tiresome. Mrs Pritchard has high blood pressure and despite explaining to her very clearly that she may be at the risk of hypertension and needs further tests done, Mrs Pritchard doesn’t believe him.

‘But I visited Dr Rudy at the Wellness Centre-’

‘This Rudy fellow, is not a doctor, Mrs Pritchard. As I have told you before, he is a homeopath. There is a difference.’

‘Yes, well, Dr Rudy at the Chatfield Wellness Centre tells me that if I drink hibiscus tea every morning and evening for a fortnight, my blood pressure will right itself. It’s just a blip you see.’

‘Mrs Pritchard, I really must advise you to follow up on these tests. An ECG will allow us to trace your heart and some blood tests will help us to identify how your kidneys are functioning. Homeopathy on the other hand, is not a certified science.’

‘Well, I’ll think about it Dr Spratt-’

‘I must insist Mrs Pritchard. This is your health we are talking about-’

 ‘Yes yes- I was wondering if we could discuss my knees now. I’ve been suffering from-’

‘I’m terribly sorry Mrs Pritchard but I’m afraid you’ll need to book a new appointment to discuss your knees. If you see Martha, she’ll book you in at your earliest convenience.’

‘But I don’t understand-’

‘Yes, it’s extremely unfortunate but it’s regulation I’m afraid. We have too many patients to see and not enough time-’

‘First I’m told I have ten minutes. A mere ten minutes to discuss my problems.’ Mrs Pritchard’s voice becomes shrill and high pitched. ‘Then you tell me I need to book an appointment for each of them! Is it any wonder I visit the bloody homeopath!’

‘Mrs Pritchard-’

‘The NHS is going to the dogs I tell you! Am I supposed to fall down the stairs and break my legs before someone takes me seriously?’ Mrs Pritchard starts to hurl obscenities at Dr Spratt. Dr Spratt sits there and nods at her. Finally, Mrs Pritchard stops.

‘So, what do you have to say for yourself Dr Spratt?’

‘I can only apologise Mrs Pritchard, but you really must leave-’ He sighs. ‘It’s been ten minutes. I have other patients I must see.’ Mrs Pritchard curses loudly and glowers as she grabs her shopping bags and hobbles to the door. She tries to slam it behind her but the bags get caught. Dr Spratt moves to help but she gives him a death-stare and he retreats. The door finally slams and Mrs Pritchard's determined footsteps can be heard moving away, down the corridor. Dr Spratt stands up and walks slowly to the coffee machine. 

He lied. He has a twenty minute break before the next patient. 

He says to himself, "I need it it".