My godmother is a GP, not this has anything to do with my choice in medicine, in fact she tried to dissuade me, I'm not sure why, something to do with paperwork perhaps. However, I'm can be quite stubborn sometimes and I was determined to not be put off by this. General practice comes under the term of primary care, GPs are your first port of call when you are unwell (unless it is life-threatening, in which case I strongly recommend A&E)

and so it can be a great place to see undiagnosed illnesses. However, GP placements get labelled as a bit of a day off at my university. I'm not sure why, I seem to have had a run of GPs who make me earn leaving at 5pm when they have to stay till 6pm for paperwork or a practice meeting. I don't mind this though, I often get to run my own consultations under the supervision of the GP. This is great for my history taking, examination and management skills, and perhaps, more importantly, great for my confidence. I often leave the GP practice with a bit of a buzz as I feel more like a doctor than I do in the hospitals, I'm not sure if this is because I feel more competent on these days or if I'm slightly buzzing from the 7 cups of tea (with chocolate digestive if you are lucky) that the practice secretaries have very kindly made for me.

One of the key parts of a day in a GP practice is the house visit. These can be a little hit and miss according to the patient you're seeing if I am honest. This week we were off to see a lady who had chronic lung disease and heart failure, and who had just been started on long term oxygen therapy at home for 4 hours per day. She had called the doctor because she had puffy legs ( often a symptom of heart failure) and was worried that she would get ulcers on them (which may have meant a stay in hospital). She was also paranoid that her oxygen would run out, fair enough, I thought, oxygen is pretty crucial for staying alive. I'd equally be paranoid if I needed oxygen through a pump to stay alive and thought it would run out.
 
I won't bore you with the details off the consultation, especially as I was distracted and terrified by the 7 cats which were leaping about the recently-converted-lounge-to-bedroom, but I wasn't too worried about the one dozing on the bed. The doctor began to talk about a medication called furosemide, a drug which I don't particularly understand the mechanism of but it is a drug which is commonly prescribed for puffy legs from heart failure so I began to listen in. "so! We wil lncrease your furosemide from 30mg to 40mg" said the doctor who had lifted the furosemide packet up off the bedside trolley and was shaking it fervently to emphasise which medication was to be altered. "but wait! These are 20mg tablets, have you not been taking your 30mg all along?!", the lady, Mrs X, looked up at the doctor, her gaze drifted to where the voice of the GP was coming from, her tone was becoming more and more like that of a disappointed mother. I wondered what was coming next as confusion filled the air. Mrs X's eyes flitted between the GP's face and the furosemide packet: "oh no!" she cackled and gurgled (you can often hear the fluid on the lungs when patients with severe heart failure talk) "that furosemide is for Meg the cat!", neither I nor the GP could believe it! Sure enough, Meg, who was lying peacefully on the bed, had a strip of shaven fur on her leg where she had recently been cannulated for an operation!

You never know what will come next!

• Confessions of a medical student's blog