I can’t help but feel that sometimes we are victims of our own success

Independent proprietor Sid Dajani has been busy with flu vaccinations, and considers weight management services

Patients access some services simply by asking, and we don’t have to do much apart from letting them know that we provide those services. I’m think here of EHC, needle exchange, blood and other screening services. Others require us to be proactive, and here we can refer patients to smoking cessation services, medicines use reviews, flu vaccinations and the new medicine service, etc.

I recently attended a seminar at which it was said that obesity is now seen as an epidemic and pharmacists should start having a more proactive role in terms of weight management, nutrition and health promotion. But how do you tell someone they're seriously overweight and they need your help, especially if they’re a woman?

Do you ask them to imagine the trauma of their kids seeing their mother on a beach sunbathing happily until she's rolled back into the sea by the foreign equivalent of Greenpeace or worse, witness their mother being harpooned? Do you tell them they have a body best loved by Rubens or that they have a body dysmorphia in reverse? How do you politely become proactive without insulting anyone, or do you simply ask, stand back and avoid eye contact so the lady cannot transmogrify you into something grotesque?

I’m so scared that I’m even typing quietly; there is a chill hanging over me in case I use the ‘F’ word in the company of my staff, who are all women and who may take offence that I'm writing about them!

I didn’t ask that question at the seminar in case I got crucified before I reached the exit. My murder would've been arranged to look like an unfortunate suicide brought about by causes attributed to financial, environmental, bad luck, the weather or even losing a lucky rabbit’s foot that I never even had. If anyone can help me that would be appreciated.

Missing the vacc factor

I attended my flu vaccine training and had to do my face-to-face refresher because that’s what the NHS want me to do despite vaccinating thousands over the past four years. Interestingly I didn’t see any GPs or nurses there, and wonder why it’s just us who have to keep doing F2F training over and above the annual refresher. Needless to say, I learned nothing new and it was about as useful to me and my patients as a sheepdog is to a fish farm, but I met some great pharmacists in Leicester, following a 5.30am start from home on a Sunday.

My first duty after that was to visit a residential home where I had 55 patients to vaccinate. I got buzzed in and a lovely lady in a white blouse and smart black trousers cheerfully greeted me. I returned the welcome with an equally cheerful response and asked if she was Diane, my contact. She said yes and I thanked her for using my services as she led me to my designated area so I can set everything up.

We chatted merrily before she stopped and indicated where I would be vaccinating people. I went through the door and found myself in the disabled toilet! I was wondering what had just happened and where the miscommunication had arisen as my thoughts started doing mental jumping jacks. I went back out, apologised and explained I didn’t need the toilet but an area where I could carry out vaccinations, as the toilet area was not ideal and quite infectious.

She looked at me like I was talking a foreign language and at that point my phone rang and it was the real Diane asking where I was. She saved me within a few minutes and I was led to the correct room, where my first patient was the fake Diane known by another name.

Vaccination fever

All done and I was back at the pharmacy, thankfully avoiding any toilets on my way out of the home. I vaccinated a few more patients, pushing my tally to around 150 within three weeks, and as I was undertaking yet another vaccination, a patient was asked to wait 10 minutes and walked out in disgust.

This riled me slightly because we are not a fast food chain and even I have had to wait for a hamburger for longer than 10 minutes. But I put a notice up anyway, explaining that I was vaccinating and anyone wanting to see me may have to wait a little longer than normal. I can’t help but feel that sometimes we are victims of our own success.

I mentioned last month that my worst speaking nightmare was the typos arising from spell-checks you can’t turn off. I was wrong. I was reminded of the time in 2009 when the backseat of my trousers split as I picked up my pen from the floor only a couple of minutes before I had to walk to the podium and start my speech at an international conference in Saudi Arabia. I was sat next to Jim Smith, the ex-chief pharmacist at the Department of Health and as the almighty rip froze me in my tracks, he looked at me as I stared back wide-eyed and helplessly and said quietly: “I hope that was only your trousers splitting!”

I had to deliver my speech in front of over 1,500 people, trying to look composed, in control, remember what I had to say and not be distracted by my predicament. I could feel the sweat running down my back and knew my bottom would be exposed if it wasn’t for my jacket covering my modesty and my hands folded behind me holding up the material at the back to stop it hanging down. I will always be grateful to Jim for walking closely behind me to the lift so I can get back to me room for a swift change after the Q&A session which followed my presentation and then strategically positioning himself every time I got stopped by well-wishers and inquisitors. Suddenly typos don’t seem that bad.