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BMJ 2004;329:500-501 (28 August), doi:10.1136/bmj.329.7464.500-a
Denise Prior, James Heathcote, general practitioner1
1 South View Lodge, South View, Bromley, Kent BR1 3DR james.heathcote@gp-G84001.nhs.uk
| The first 150 words of the full text of this article appear below. |
It's not often that I'm ill and I had no intention of saying anything, but Bill brought it up for me because I wouldn't.1 Nineteen years ago I'd gone to my previous GP with bad stomach pains, and he just told me that it was an ulcer, so I always put it down to an ulcer. We sometimes had the odd glass of wine together in the evening, but not every evening, so it wasn't alcohol causing my pain. My Nan had skin problems, and I've dealt with cystitis before, so it didn't seem worth mentioning.
I never really thought I was ill, but the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet were driving me round the twist. I could have used a wire brush on them. It was so deep down I was making myself bleed, but I was scared: "What if something happened to mewhat
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