Just call me Mrs Brown

Now I know it's very passé to have a whinge about the NHS, but I'm going to anyway.

There is a Dr who pioneers emetophobia treatment and I recently found out he practices right here in my area! Not meaning to burst anyones 'God lives in Heaven' bubble or anything but God is alive and well and running a vomit phobia clinic right here in London! I literally felt like all my Christmases had come at once and kicked my doctors door down for a referral. My doctor advised me it'd have to go through the local mental health team who'd assess me first. Fair enough, I thought.

I had my assessment yesterday, which I have been looking forward to since it was booked a couple of weeks back. Literally, I've been so excited about the prospect of this miserable phobia perhaps being dealt with, I'm like a teenager who's just discovered emo!

So I get there and sit in the waiting room where I'm asked by the toothless woman next to me if I'm married to Gordon Brown. MEH! I then get called in for my 'assessment'. What a waste of time. I won't bore you with the details, but the upshot was that I'd have to go for 'normal' therapy first, for which there is a year-long waiting list and only if that fails, will I be even so much as considered for referral to God's specialist clinic! I leave feeling very disheartened... hmmm, maybe my husband, Gordon Brown can bump me up the waiting list?

I get home and ferret around on the internet (I love you, internet!) and lo-and-behold, find an article written by God himself stating that if you live in the area I live in, you can be referred directly to him. None of this year-long failed-therapy-first rubbish! So it's back up the doctors for me today, begging for a direct referral. I'll let you know how I get on.