4.0.0 The MoT

An unexpected diagnosis

This article is personal experience, not medical advice.

It was early morning and I was in the park, relaxing before work. My phone went off – private number, but I’d had an MoT and I knew the blood test results were back, so it would likely be the surgery and I knew what was coming: more tests on my liver.

I answered it.

“Hi, I’m your GP. I’m afraid you’ve got diabetes.” Bugger. I wasn’t expecting that.

Okay, so let’s back up a bit. I’m nearly 50 and going blind had been a wake-up call, so I had recently joined this General Practice. I’m a Reluctant Patient, but its time to have an MoT and find out how bad things are as it felt like my body was falling apart. So I asked for a general checkup.

After a few days I received a text inviting me to an appointment with a link giving me the choice of three dates, different times, and different doctors. My assigned GP was not one of them and I didn’t know any of the others.

I looked at their website and found their profiles – none stood out. I looked at the page for my assigned GP. Like the others there was a small photo and a brief bio. But a few things caught my attention. I don’t recall ever meeting my assigned GP before. I wondered if I would meet this one.

But I needed to choose an appointment. I’d have to book time off work regardless. Would I prefer a male or female doctor? What’s that got to do with this? I just want it over and done with. Ah, decision made – select the first available one.

On the day, I arrived early – I’d never been there before and it’s good manners to ensure you don’t keep medical professionals waiting. One of the posters in the waiting room was announcing that bowel cancer screening had recently been lowered to people over 50 years old. Not quite eligible for that yet and I didn’t want to think about that anyway. Next to it was a poster for the NHS App.

I got called into the doctor’s office. He asked some routine questions.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Surviving, Doc. Just surviving,” I replied.

“How much are you smoking now?” he asked.

“I quit about six-and-a-half years ago,” I replied.

“Good man!”, he exclaimed.

Wow! Not often I get praise from a doctor. Once I’d made my mind up to quit, sheer bloody-mindedness had actually worked in my favour for once.

“How much do you drink?”, he asked.

Ah, now, he’s not going to like this one.

“Too much”, I admitted.

“Define ‘too much'”, he said.

Um. I had no idea, but I knew where this was going. I tried giving him a monetary estimate to evade giving him a figure. He nearly fell off his chair.

“We’ll take your blood pressure,” he said. “Hmm, your blood pressure is a bit high.”

I’ve heard those exact words a fair few times before . . . and since. “Best of three?” I asked.

He looked at me. “We always take the best of three,” he replied. Yeah, I know. Not the first time I’ve had my blood pressure taken. Plus I used to watch Casualty in the 1990’s – Charlie Fairhead, Nurse Duffy, and Josh the paramedic – great TV drama.

“Are you alright if we do a general blood test?” he asked. “It will also give us an idea of what state your liver is in.”

I had to sit in the Waiting Room again for a few minutes whilst they got ready, and I saw the NHS App poster again. Yeah, I’ll download that later – might get a preview of my blood test results.

I got called into a different room. They recorded my height and weight.

“Your BMI is 34. I’m afraid that’s definitely in obese territory.” Like the blood pressure results, I wasn’t surprised it was in the low-30’s – I definitely don’t have the physique of a marathon runner, but equally I don’t have the physique of a sumo wrestler.

Then they took three vials of blood out of my left arm, before I could get on with the rest of my day.

I didn’t have to wait long for the results. In fact, I think I got some that same afternoon and the rest the following morning – all courtesy of the NHS App.

Some results were in range and some out of range. It didn’t take me long to work out that out of range is probably bad. But some weren’t too far out. I could clearly see that the doctor would have a go at me about high cholesterol but I didn’t know much about anything else.

Up until recently I would have tried googling each one. But not today. We are in a new era. I know I shouldn’t do this, but let’s find out how smart this new kiddie on the block really is.

I picked out all the results that were out of range and pasted them into a notes app, and after I had collated them all, I pasted them into a private ChatGPT session.

It basically said: “I can give you an idea of what these blood test results mean. However, the results are difficult to interpret on their own. Please provide context and/or additional test results.”

Well that was a waste of time. But it sounded like I wouldn’t learn much from Google either.

I went back into the NHS App and selected all the results and pressed copy.

So you want context, eh? Take a deep breath and put on your best Brummie accent: we’re going full on Jasper Carrott. How is this for a prompt: “I have a BMI of 34. AND I’M A COMPLETE PISS-HEAD! What does this mean?” Paste. Send.

Even ChatGPT needed a moment to respond. It said something a little bit like this: “I’m not a doctor, but . . . your liver is under stress although it is functioning. In theory, there is a vague possibility that you may be able to recover. The good news is that your kidneys are fine. Good luck with what is left of the rest of your life.”

Is that it? All you can say is “liver not too good”? Definitely my results then. So I guess I’m looking at cirrhosis and maybe liver cancer. I didn’t need to bother a doctor or get a blood test to work that out.

Business as usual, then.

The following morning I went down to the park, early enough to beat the dustmen emptying the bins. I walked around the pond: sometimes I take photos of the swans and sometimes even the ducks and seagulls. I sat down on a bench and started reading the news on my phone, when it started to vibrate. I don’t usually answer unknown numbers or ones I don’t recognise, but it could be about the blood test results, so I answered it.

She was warm, polite and yet still quick to the point – just as I surmised by her profile.

“Hi. We haven’t met, but I’m your GP, Doctor Archie. We’ve got your blood test results back. I’m afraid you’ve got diabetes.”

She said what now!?! Diabetes? ChatGPT didn’t warn me about that! Come to think of it, it didn’t mention the high cholesterol either. I guess it’s because I gave it the context of drinking too much so it only focussed on the liver. That’s why you still need the professionals – AI is an assistant for the specialist, not a replacement for the specialist.

So, I’ve got diabetes. Whatever next?

Hospital radio

Today’s prescription: one carefully curated playlist. The connections aren’t always obvious . . .

In the Waiting Room

Film and tv guide

• Die Another Day
• Casualty
• Canned Carrott