… How to be a GP. Part 2: Swivel chairs.

I was asked by a medical student yesterday the best thing about being an NHS GP.

Continuity of care?  Mastery of a broad range of conditions?  A sense of community and making a difference?

After a lot of thought I’ve decided.

It’s the swivel chair.

But the problem is, while I’m sitting in the magic swivel chair of cleverness, I might look like I have all the answers, as soon as I stand up I’m as rubbish as everyone else.

It’s disappointing. 

It’s like when you see famous people who you think ought to be clever on shows like Celebrity Mastermind or The Chase and as soon as they open their mouths you realise they’re as thick as the rest of us.  Turns out everyone’s clever when you have the answers written down on a piece of paper.

The swivel chair is important though.

As long as you have the best chair, you’re in charge.

It’s how Captain Kirk and the Queen got away with it for so long.

It’s all a show. 

A massive chair, a big desk or an expensive suit and it give you instant credibility.

Put a crown court judge in a grand chair, in a court room, in full regalia and they look pretty imposing.

Stick him on a unicycle: less so.

It’s not always the case though.

Do we watch the Apprentice?

Insiders have told me Sir Alan sugar needs the desk for two reasons. 

Firstly, in his big chair his feet don’t reach the ground.

And secondly, it’s because he’s not a real businessman.

It turns out that Nick and Margaret found a dusty old glove puppet of a grumpy badger in a cupboard at the BBC, and like Basil Brush, they put him in a suit, gave him is own TV show and change the sidekick every few years.

But back to GPing.

Sometimes it gets a bit much listening to other people’s problems all day.

When that happens sometimes I sit in the little seat, you get the big seat and I spend ten minutes telling you what’s wrong with me.

Turns out it’s down to a crappy diet, too much stress, rubbish sleep and a mobile phone.

Or a bit of a cold.

Same as anyone else, really.

Anyway, I soon get bored and have to swap back because whooshing across the floor when I need a blood form or a urine pot is one of the best things about my job and, on a well polished floor, well worth the ten years of training.

But the chair hierarchy can be used to your advantage . 

Sometimes, if I need to break some important news or be taken very seriously I stage-manage the consultation to make sure I have a better chair so it’s…

“I’m sorry Mrs Smith, the x-rays are back, the arthritis is much worse and the only treatment left is a bilateral hip replacement.  Now would you like a hand up from that beanbag?”

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