Heavenly Beverley : Personal Peeves

Having waxed lyrical in glowing terms all afternoon in the East End Gallery, I have cooled down substantially enough to have a hearty whinge. Station House is a luxurious oasis and the Canine Clowns are snoring contentedly at our feet. Outside watering has been delayed until the heat - currently forty-one degrees Celcius after six o'clock (one hundred and six Fahrenheit) - falls to a more acceptable level. Our patient garden will have to wait for another hour or so.

Instead, we have opened the bar for a refreshing Bourbon and Coke (no sugar of course). I have been giving consideration to an ongoing first world problem what has been causing me grief for all my adult life.

The Pap Smear experience.

I understand that I should be eternally grateful to have access to Pap Smears. Cervical cancer is not a condition to be taken lightly. And finally that medicos understand that this cancer springs from a sexually transmissible virus, whole generations of men and women who are receiving the vaccine as teenagers will never have to endure a Pap smear.

Those of Us of a Certain Age will continue to be reminded of the need for regular Pap Smears, as well as breast and internal examinations. Having changed our GP to the capable Stephanie after my last Pap Smear, I decided to bite the bullet and give her a shot.

In the past, the speculum has been cold. Bitterly cold. Or pinched me on the way in. Or out. Or the practitioner was brutal. And how on Earth am I meant to relax with the instructions "Now pop your ankles together and then drop your knees".

Stephanie is a True Believer in stirrups. Although a tad awkward to master the manouvre of actually getting my knees up (Mother Brown), once in position, I lay ready for the unmentionable assault. Which was over before I knew it. Stephanie then performed both the internal and breast examination with no discomfort and the minimum of fuss. I am convinced. Stirrups rock!

The only snag in this previously dreaded and now embraced procedure (thanks to Stephanie) is the problem of one's knickers. Where are knickers supposed to be secreted? Under the pillow? Under one's arm? Tossed at one's husband? Down the side of the examination table? One of Stephanie's fellow quacks had been enormously embarrassed to discover a fairly generous pair of bloomers jammed down the side of his table. Probably the lady owner of the pants was more embarrassed as she obviously couldn't retrieve them and so left without her undergarments.

What is the solution...?

I have designed the answer. Rather like a sealed section with an edge of perforations that would be ripped out of "Cleo" or "Cosmopolitan", a roll of disposable and opaque ziplock bags would be mounted on the edge of the examination table. One would neatly place knickers inside the bag and zip it up. Once the procedure had concluded, one would then zip off her bag, take out her knickers, dress and leave with a minimum of fuss. No worrying where to put one's knickers and no chance of leaving without them due to embarrassment.

I'm sure this could be a winner. While I'm at it, I have other solutions to other disasters of the modern world.

The Total Inadequacy of the Hospital Gown. They are too complicated, too short and too open for privacy. What is the problem with press studs up the back of the bloody gown? Nobody in their right mind wants to expose their arse in an unfamiliar setting. I understand that gowns are designed to be Got Into In A Hurry, but plastic press studs, which are already used in these clothing contraptions, could save a patient's dignity in what is usually a most undignified situation.

As for the length, we need to cater for tall people. And short people. And thin people. And fat people. A one size fits all - doesn't. I propose a simple shift in adequate sizes. For heaven's sakes, they have different size gowns for kids in hospitals. Press studs at the shoulders, down the back and down the front. Kind of like an oversized Chesty Bond singlet. Privacy and dignity should be paramount in all health campuses.

There also must be more soothing conditions in pre-anaesthetic bays. They are always bloody freezing and I seem to always wait quite a length of time before I am Taken Through to the theatre. So, I'm cold. And anxious. And bored. Partners need to be allowed to remain if they so choose. What is the reason for their exclusion? And don't get me started that this is because of sterility. The staff wander in and out without masks. As for boredom, headphones with a choice of soft music and a heated blanket should be offered on arrival. Or have the bays at a reasonable temperature.

These ideas are not Rocket Science. I am sure that these could be implemented with a minimum of fuss. My fear of visiting the dentist has been totally alleviated by Michael's presence in the room, massaging my feet to relax me. All I had to do was ask Vincent, our dentist and my wish was granted.

I'd be delighted to open this forum to further thoughts.