What was in the folder.
Not a paternity test. I want to deal with that first, because it is what everybody assumes and because that child’s parentage is nobody’s business, including mine.
It was a complaint file.
On the fifteenth of May, 2023, the regulator received a complaint about me.
Anonymous. Four pages. It alleged that I had attended clinical shifts impaired, that my judgement had been affected by my personal circumstances, and that colleagues had concerns they were frightened to raise.
It named two incidents. Both real, both already investigated internally in 2022, both closed with no findings.
And it contained one line that did the actual damage: that I had been “receiving treatment for mental health difficulties associated with infertility” and that this had not been declared.
I was taken off clinical duties on the second of June, 2023.
Fourteen months.
I did not see a patient between the second of June, 2023, and the eleventh of August, 2024. I did audit. I sat in an office at the end of a corridor in a building where every single person knew.
