Confessions of a GP

Cannabis

Sometimes, even when my surgery is full, the receptionists sneak a couple of extra patients on to the end. Up on the screen next to their name is a little justification as to why they have been squeezed in. These might be: ‘Baby with fever – mum worried’ or ‘Lost prescription – catching flight this afternoon.’ After a recent busy afternoon surgery I had a 16-year-old boy added on to my list and the receptionist had put ‘overdose’ next to his name. I thought this was a bit odd, as normally the receptionists are fairly sensible and would send an overdose straight to A&E.

I called Adrian and his mum straight in from the waiting room. Adrian was dressed all in black and had long, straggly, greasy brown hair that covered his face. Despite trying to look gothic and alternative, Adrian still looked a lot more like Harry Potter than Pete Doherty. He did look pale and sickly but I was not sure whether that was the look he was trying to convey or whether he was actually unwell.

‘He’s taken an overdose, Doctor. Drugs! It’s drugs!’ Adrian’s mum wailed with her head in her hands.

Mum was completely frantic and shouting and crying. Adrian was sitting awkwardly in the chair visibly squirming while staring at the floor. After a couple of minutes, I was getting nowhere as Mum was hysterical and Adrian was monosyllabic so I politely asked Mum to wait outside. Once his mum had left the room, Adrian relaxed a bit and told me what had happened. He and his mates from his chemistry A level class had finished a mock exam and had gone to sit in the park to drink some cider. One of his mates had some cannabis and Adrian had tried some. Cider and cannabis don’t mix very well so after three puffs, Adrian had started feeling a little pale and unwell, known in my day as ‘pulling a whitey’. He had staggered home but, unfortunately, while on his way to his bedroom he had been intercepted by his mother. After a fierce interrogation, she had managed to force out of him that he had smoked some weed and then frantically dragged him straight to the surgery.

I brought Adrian’s mum back in and tried to calm her down.

‘Adrian’s going to be fine,’ I said.

‘Well, doesn’t he need some tests doing and his stomach pumped?’

‘I promise that won’t be necessary. He just needs to go home and get some sleep.’

‘Well, what will happen now? Doesn’t he need to go in for rehab? Won’t there be some aftereffects?’

‘Hmm, he might go and raid your fridge in about three hours but not much else.’

‘Please tell him never to take drugs again, Doctor. He’ll listen to you.’

Parents are very naïve if they think that their teenagers will listen to me. I am not one of those cool 30-year-olds who DJ at the weekend and wear product in their hair. I listen to Radio 4, grow tomatoes and lately have found myself remarking on how comfortable and practical a combination of socks and sandals is. Until recently, I thought the Arctic Monkeys were a result of climate change. Your children will quite rightly view me as a geek and will under no circumstances take any lifestyle advice from me. On numerous occasions I have been instructed by parents to lecture their teenage offspring on subjects varying from sitting up straight to eating more vegetables. It is embarrassing and pointless.

Adrian and his mum left and I felt embarrassed on his behalf. I’m not advocating drugs. They are bad and certainly cannabis is now known to be considerably more harmful than previously thought. Having said all that, teenage boys with long straggly hair will sit in the park and smoke weed. It has been going on since the 1960s and so long as there are parks and spotty teenagers, it will continue into the future. The vast majority of these boys will eventually realise that there are more interesting things to do in the world and wake up to the fact that long greasy hair and heavy metal T-shirts are a bad look. Their mates will then betray them in years to come by putting embarrassing photos of them looking stoned and dishevelled on Facebook.