GP video calls are not all they’re cracked up to be

Doctors can’t give an accurate diagnosis during a face-time consultation. After discovering a ‘thing’ on my lip, I found that out for myself, says Jenny Eclair

Matt Hancock says GP appointments should be done remotely (Getty/iStock)

We were driving back from Cornwall, listening to the radio, when I heard some garbage about Matt Hancock thinking that GP video calls are the way forward for the NHS. Bizarrely, the man thinks that even in a post-Covid world, the traditional face-to-face patient-doctor scenario should be replaced by virtual consultations – hold on, this is our health secretary speaking.

In a speech last Thursday, Hancock (the clue’s in the surname) went on to say that although there would always be a system for those who can’t log on, it would be “wrong to patronise older people by saying they don’t do tech”. Hmm, it’s not that many old people don’t do tech mate, it’s that they can’t, they can’t see to operate the buttons, it’s as simple as that. I suspect my 91-year-old mother is far brighter than Hancock, but she has macular degeneration, she cannot use a smartphone, iPad or computer – it’s not a question of patronising her, it’s a matter of sympathising and understanding.

In any case, from my own personal experience, the lockdown face-time surgical chat leaves a great deal to be desired and while I’m not blaming anyone, let me tell you why.

The “thing” appeared just above my lip about a month ago, it looked like a small cluster of tiny blisters and tingled like crazy. A cold sore, I deduced. “A cold sore”, my nearest and dearest agreed. Weird, I thought. I’ve never had a cold sore before, why am I getting them for the first time in my life at the grand old age of 60? It wasn’t like I’d been out in the park snogging strangers.

The timing of the “thing” was unfortunate because I had just published a new non-fiction book and I was doing quite a lot of press, including my first TV studio appearance since lockdown began. Call me vain, I went online, filled in a form and bought some antiviral tablets from a pharmacy. They arrived two days later and seemed to work almost immediately. The “thing” went down and I finished it off with a few swabs of TCP. By the time I was in the studio I was able to cover what was left of the cold sore with some makeup, job done.

Only it came back and this time the tingling wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was painful, it woke me in the night, I felt close to tears, something wasn’t right, so I phoned my GP’s surgery and was informed I’d be face timed by a doctor as soon as one was available.

I was visiting a friend in her garden when the call came through, the doctor and I struggled to hear each other over the building work emanating from next door, but on instruction I positioned my lip as close to the camera on the phone as I could and the doctor yelled his diagnosis. Even though I’d never had one before, it looked like a cold sore. I needed to get a certain over-the-counter cream, and apply it regularly. I duly did what I was told but deep down I wasn’t convinced and over the next few days, despite the “thing” shrinking, I felt uneasy. It was still hurting at night. So much so that a few days later I made an appointment for a face-to-face consultation with a private dermatologist.

Now at this point I realise that I’m incredibly fortunate to have enough savings to cover this kind of expense and even luckier to live in London with a partner who was prepared to drive me to and from the West End, so that I could avoid public transport and see the specialist as safely as possible.

Of course, come the actual day of the consultation, the “thing” had shrunk to near invisibility and I felt like an idiot as I waited to see the dermatologist. In fact, my first words to him were, “I think you’re really going to tell me off for wasting your time.” Ha, 10 minutes later, having inspected my face closely under a special light, the specialist was telling me that I had pre-cancerous patches in several areas on my face. While being reassured that this is nothing to panic about immediately, I now have to follow a medicated skin-care regime religiously, slather on the factor 50 and return in three months time to see if further intervention, particularly on the area above the lip, is necessary.

So forgive me Mr Hancock if I roll my eyes at your cunning new plan. It won’t work. Not only do doctors need great training, they need to see, feel, hear and smell you, and they can’t do that on the other end of a telephone. In any case, what happens if one needs to discuss matters gynae. Have you ever tried taking a photo of your nethers? Not everyone is a contortionist. Or are we all going to be issued with long-handled NHS selfie sticks?

Honestly, I despair, I really do.