If you’d asked me on Saturday, what I really wanted most in the world it would have been a mix of things. Family, a nice home and happiness would have been the top three. Well, I have family, I will have a nice home after we move (this one needs work, as I may have said and I am mainly happy. That’s not bad.
Ask me Monday and I would have been terser, and much more basic. By that time I would have killed for the ability to empty my bladder.
Yes, I’m back in the grip of urological problems, which regular readers may remember from before.
I won’t give too much information, as there is a very fine line between frankness and over-sharing. One is desirable in autobiographies, the other is a modern curse. Forgive me if I stray over the line.
Let’s just say that after a difficult day I went to the A&E department at our local hospital at 4am, and when they asked, reported that my problem was that I hadn’t been able to pass urine for eight hours. The NHS, on their website, considers that 4 or 5 hours is a serious problem. At A&E they are much more casual about it. I was seen after an hour then waited around four more before I went to ask what was happening and was told to ask round the corner. I went round the corner and asked, where I was told dismissively that my name was on the list for a scan and that I would probably be able to see a doctor around midnight.
Fortunately, at that point, I found myself able to pass a little urine – it was erratic and we are talking about very small amounts, but it did offer some relief, both physical and mental.
Eventually they got the scan result showing my bladder wasn’t emptying despite my efforts. I had actually told them that seven hours previously. That’s a working day for many people. It seems that in the NHS it’s a perfectly acceptable time to wait between tests. It’s a long time to retain urine at any time, but on top of the original eight hours it was quite a worry.
Think of a shop. You go in at 9am when they open, tell them you would like a coin, are interviewed an hour later, confirm your desire to buy a coin, and are made to sit round waiting. Eventually, after waiting, you ask again and are told that you have been put on a list to see if you can pas a test to buy a coin, and that you will be able to see a coin salesman when you have been waiting for eight hours . . .
To cut to the chase – blood pressure again, doctor (diagnosis given that seemed to have little to do with the facts of the case I had provided them with) urine test, another scan, another blood pressure test, blood test, doctor again, cannula removed, pills given. And, I think, blood pressure again. (After 20 hours with no sleep, things were getting hazy). I’m glad to say that mine stayed own through the whole experience, as I meditated.
From entry to the system to seeing a doctor, a little before midnight – almost eight hours.
However, from seeing a doctor until release, a little over seven more hours.
Yes, a total of fifteen hours.
I arrived home just as Julia was leaving, ate the breakfast she had left for me and went to sleep for eight hours. She has, as they say in the Bible, a price above rubies. It was only her text at 1am, suggesting that she report the NHS to the Police for kidnapping, that kept me going. The anti-biotics have had little effect and there has been no improvement as I continue to struggle.
This is merely a narrative account of my life, so I will offer no further commentary.
I thought fruit and veg photos would be a calming motif.
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I have nothing but sympathy for you but no solution to offer. It is hard to see how the NHS can be improved under the present circumstances.
We sometimes cast a false glow over the old days. I can remember having to wait in the late seventies for more than a year to get an appointment with a consultant let alone any treatment while suffering from severe and frequently disabling back pain. This was not unusual.
In the late 60s my mother nearly died whilst on the waiting list – she was told it was her fault for not telling the NHS she was getting worse. It was a goitre and she didn’t realise how close it actually was to suffocating her as she slept[t.
The problem with the NHS is bigger than I can get my head round – all I know is that sick people like me can absorb as much budget as the government gives it. paying nearly £3 billion in negligence claims and legal costs doesn’t help either. Or having a minimum pension age of 50 or 55. It’s not a supportable model.
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Hoping all is well
Much improvde, thank you. I am functioning better, able to concentrate, am recovering (and controlling) my sense of humour and have found a profession for the protagonist of the historical detective fiction I keep saying I will write. 🙂
Write it!!
OK, OK . . .
I’m just wondering if they need an annoyingly perky sidekick from the New World . . .
100%…
So appalling. Julia’s text the one bright moment. Those particular photographs actually make me squirm by association.
Sorry Derrick. I would have hesitated to use them with a post on piles but thought they were a safe choice here. 🙂
🙂
🙂
Yikes! That is a long time to wait for something like that. I remember reading you having some sort of problem earlier but have forgotten what it was about. Have they ruled out the need for a TURP? In return, this may be far more information that you want, but when I looked, I found the NHS has a webpage on it, so they must be aware of this condition and be able to perform one if needed. Good luck!
https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/transurethral-resection-of-the-prostate-turp/
Thanks Lavinia, my problem is associated with urethral strictures caused by an auto-immune condition (which may be too much information in itself). It shares many symptoms with an enlarged prostate and I have read about the procedure before, so no worries about information supply there. 🙂