100 Days Of Blogging #7 – Some Things That Have Been Pissing Me Off

Being afraid every time I need to call my doctors surgery to make an appointment. 

This has been happening for some time, but it’s been worsening recently. I have a few things going on health-wise (physically and mentally), so I try to stay very in tune with my body and mind. (Or so I like to think.) So, when something doesn’t feel or look right, I’m promptly on the phone to try and get an appointment.

The thing is, I make up all these scenarios in my head of what’s happening on the other end of the phone. For example, I picture the receptionist rolling their eyes when I offer up the problem I need to be seen for and mouthing to a college, ‘have a guess who I have on the line…’ (In the UK, we need to give a brief overview of why we need to see a doctor before we can actually see one, and it can sometimes feel like you need to justify yourself and why your problem should be accessed face to face.) 

When I’m asked my date of birth and name, I’ve started to reply so meekly that I don’t even sound like me. And it’s because I’m ashamed. In some warped sense, I’m grateful that I typically see a different doctor every time I go.

But, earlier today, my legend of a neighbour said, over a cup of tea and an Eccles cake – and his point made me feel better and decreased my crippling anxiety about making appointments – ‘there will be people the doctors rarely see, and people they see often, and if you need to be seen often, that’s ok. If that’s what you need, that’s what you need. There’s no shame in it. It’s their job to see you if you feel you need to be seen.’ He’s right. I’ve heard stories of people who’ve died because they were too embarrassed to go to the doctor about a problem. I refuse to be one of those people. 

Bags of dog shit tossed hither and thither.

I do not, for the life of me, understand why people bag up their dog’s shit only to throw it on the floor or suspend it from a tree branch. (WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?) Or, as someone in my village does, leave a bag of shit in the same place (where I happen to run) each and every time they walk their dog until there’s a small shitty hill just waiting for some curious, unassuming fox to tear into it. 

Someone bagging their dog’s shit only to dump it and go on their merry way is as bad as not picking it up. I raise an eyebrow when folk play devil’s advocate and say, ‘welllllll, perhaps they left it there to pick up on their way back.’ No.  

I see bags of shit on my hikes and runs all the time and cannot fathom who would think it’s a tolerable thing to do. In my naive mind, I always thought people who visit a place of outstanding natural beauty would respect it, i.e. by not leaving any traces that they or their pet were there. But many don’t, and it’s something I really struggle to accept. 

Virgin Media.

No explanation is needed, really, but they call me. They call me a lot. They call me so much that I know there’s a one in three chance it will be Virgin when my phone rings. It’s always one of these three when my phone goes – my mother, doctor or Virgin Media, and the only one I ever want to really hear from is my mum.