Tamiflu

He gave me a pack of Tamilflu, said they had horrid side effects so it was up to me if I wanted to take them now. He then left in a hurry forgetting the unsterilised stethoscope and leaving the used mask, apron and gloves on the settee. He came back and reclaimed them with a message to stay in quarantine until I get the results. I waited 2 days. ‘You don’t have the flu’ he said abruptly and put down the phone. I was so relieved to be living in Britain, the country with the highest level of alert for a global pandemic of swine flu!

The Examination

I was obedient and stood in the middle of the room. He came in and fumbled around taking out a kit with a mask, visor, white plastic apron, rubber gloves and a pack with swabs and saline solution. He was nervous and could not get the gloves on his thumbs but proceeded anyway with clubbed paws to close the curtains and listen to my chest. He forgot the scissors to cut the pack and panicked. I sterilised a pair for him. He swabbed up my nose and the back of my throat knocking over the receptacle for the swabs.

Emergency

This time I said it was an emergency. ’ I need to know the reason,’ the receptionist drawled. ’I have been to Mexico, got the flu and want to know if it is okay to go to work’, I explained nervously, ‘I am sure it is,’ he said with authority. I persisted and finally the doctor called at 11.00. I explained my predicament. He was non-plused and said it was just a flu. I protested again, ‘But it’s Mexico! Have you not heard the news?’ He confessed he hadn’t seen TV or a newspaper over the weekend, but would call the health authority and get back to me. He rang back in 10 minutes. He barked ‘Stay in the house. Don’t go out and use a different bathroom and towels than other members of your family!’ In half an hour he arrived on his bike, harassed and sweating. I opened the front door. He commanded me to get into the front room, ‘I don’t want to alarm the neighbours with my mask’.

The Swine Doctor

I chose option 1 - I rang the doctors. A receptionist picked up the phone, ‘Sorry we are closed’. ‘But I have just been to Mexico,’ I spluttered. ‘Ring back in 3 minutes at 8.30’ she barked. I was desperate. My husband sought a middle path and said call NHS direct. The response was swift. An advisor asked me if I had a temperature, sore throat, headaches, trouble breathing, and a purple rash, like bruising under the skin. I had all but the rash. He chuckled at my anxiety and reassured me flus are always around and concluded that I was probably okay. But I was really ill. I called the doctors again. I was put on hold.

High alert for swine flu!

I came back from Mexico with post honeymoon exhaustion, a cheesy tan and the flu. I was sure it was the usual plane cold, but nothing prepares you for the terror of being labelled ‘unclean’.

It was a couple of days after we came back that the pig flu media frenzy began. We had been innocently mixing with friends and neighbours. We had been to salsa, yoga, travelled on the tube, shopped in the supermarket, and shared pizzas in a crowded park café in central London.

Should I be the ethical good citizen, call the doctor, confess I have flu and let all hell break loose? Or should I err on the side of self preservation, go to ground and avoid the loss of face and friendships?