Today we’re going to learn how being a bulk-billing general practitioner is a bit like being a galley slave.
Hello everyone.
Let’s meet John.
John’s a GP and he works at a bulk-billing practice.
A bulk-billing practice is a bit like a galley ship.
The practice is the wooden ship, the patients are the deep ocean and the slaves who do the rowing are the GPs.
John has to row faster and faster to make the same amount of money because tax, inflation and interest rates are in charge of the drum. No wonder John looks so knackered.
John’s colleagues earn a lot more than him. For example, John’s friend Rupert is a surgeon.
Rupert can afford fast cars, fancy houses and even signs his letters using a golden ink-pen. John thinks he’s a prick.
Rupert has a special room in his house where he can run his hands through all of his lovely money.
“I didn’t go into medicine to feather my own nest,” John smugly thinks to himself. “I went into medicine to help people.”
This is called lying to yourself. People lie to themselves all the time because it makes them feel better. Examples of lies include “Everything happens for a reason” or “If I ignore it, it will just go away” and “Only pricks use ink-pens”.
When people stop believing in their own lies they discover rum.
Unlike his surgical colleague John has to see more and more patients to keep his income the same. And because John gets money from the government he has to be very careful about what he bills. If he gets a code even slightly wrong he could be accused of fraud, clapped in irons and investigated by the PSR.
The PSR spend all of their time rounding up doctors and persecuting them. One of them has a very sharp stick.
It’s lunchtime and John is so tired he decides to have a little nap on the examination couch. No sooner has he fallen asleep than he starts to have a bad dream. He dreams that the PSR kicks his door down and threaten to set fire to his ship.
John panics and jumps overboard.
As he sinks through the murk his cheeks bloom with the last mouthful of air and he feels his patients’ hands tugging at his clothes, their faces bloated and their black eyes lidless.
John wakes up screaming.
The receptionist tells him he’d better smarten up and get a move on, it’s half past one and the waiting room’s already full to bursting.
And this is why clever children like you don’t want to be GPs when they grow up.
