I wrote last year about the abscess I had treated, when my dentist (a woman) referred me to a specialist (a woman), while visiting a pharmacist along the way (a woman).
Saturday morning, two days ago, my elbow felt tender. By Saturday evening it was inflamed, red and hot to touch. An obvious infection. Dr Google came up with a candidate. It looks like Bursitis. I rang NHS 111 (a non-emergency medical advice line). The woman referred me to a local pharmacy because it was the weekend. Sunday morning (yesterday) I saw the pharmacist, a woman. She told me I must see a GP because the infection needs to be treated.
Sunday afternoon I arrive at the vaccination centre for my second jab. A woman will give the jab, a woman is updating the records on the laptop next to me. I point out the Popeye’s elbow I’m sporting in case they need to know. A doctor is called over for an assessment. She – a woman – decides that I can’t have the second jab until the infection has been treated because they don’t want vaccine and antibiotics swilling around at the same time. She knows my surgery and tells me to mention her name so I get an appointment pronto.
I mention her name to the surgery receptionist this morning. The receptionist texts me a link. I reply, attaching a photo of my elbow. Ten minutes later a doctor calls me. Can you guess yet? That’s right, a woman. She can see all she needs to see from the photo and while we’re talking she … tap tap tap … sends my prescription to my nearest pharmacy. Later this morning I pop in to the pharmacy – can you believe it, she’s a woman – to pick up antibiotics.
No, I’m not complaining about bloody women. They were all professional and competent and that’s what matters. I just can’t help noticing something. While the puerile, self-obsessed Henriettas are doing Wimmin’s Studies and chanting about smashing the patriarchy, women with brains and a sense of purpose – doctors, dentists and pharmacists – got on and did it without fuss.