Dr Greg Kelly: Rural GP and Prison Medical Officer with Castlerea Prison, Roscommon
I work in a four-doctor practice, which I share with my sister, her son and his wife. Officially my day runs from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. but often it begins much earlier and usually finishes much later.
The nature of my work means that I have to see all my patients on the day they present themselves in my surgery. You can't put them on a waiting list. Heart attacks, meningitis or cancer are not the type of problems that can be put on hold and, until you see and examine the patient, you can't decide on the seriousness of the problem.
Just like Forest Gump, the life of a GP is "like a box of chocolates" and you never know when you arrive at work whether you will have a busy day, a quiet day or what you will come across.
I treat patients from the cradle to the grave and everything in between and this means that there is tremendous variety in my job. As well as dealing with health problems, I deal with relationship issues, housing dilemmas, alcohol-related problems and headage payments to name but a few. I work until about 1.30 p.m. when I take a quick lunch - a sandwich and a cup of tea or maybe just a banana if it is busy.
In the afternoon I either make house calls or go to Castlerea Prison.
The number of house calls I make has dramatically decreased in recent years, as people are more mobile with most homes now having a car.
For the most part, it is only the terminally ill or the immobile that I visit at home now. I also make regular calls to local nursing homes.
As Prison Medical Officer I examine every prisoner who is detained within 24 or 48 hours of their arrival. If the prisoner is ill or high-risk, I will see them sooner.
A lot of the prisoners come from disadvantaged and dysfunctional backgrounds, have a history of drug or alcohol abuse and have a lot of emotional baggage. A disproportionate number of prisoners suffer from psychological or psychiatric illnesses.
Unfortunately, although the prison has a visiting psychiatrist, the prison services don't have enough resources to deal with all these issues and there is not an adequate hospital back-up service.
My second surgery takes place between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. but very often it goes on until 6.30 p.m. particularly in wintertime, if there is a flu outbreak or a respiratory infection doing the rounds.
I have to clear the surgery before I leave. It's a bit like being a member of the clergy in the confession box - tomorrow might be too late for some people. The last patient in the queue could well be the most urgent one.
Because it takes an hour for an ambulance to reach this area, I also get called out for heart attacks, serious farm mishaps or road traffic accidents at all hours of the day and night.
This can happen once or twice a week. I am often limited in what I can do in these situations and mainly I allay the anxiety of onlookers, give advice and stop bleeding.
At this stage in my life after 25 years in the job, this is the only life I know.
I try to do the best I can and with a certain amount of drama and great variety there is a certain buzz from the job. People who initially started out as patients have become my friends and neighbours and by and large people are very kind and appreciative.
On the down side, trying to get patients into hospital and treating them while they are on a waiting list for an operation is very frustrating as is treating the many people on low incomes who are not eligible for the medical card.