Tag Archives: NHS

Rage, rage etc . . .

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Photo by ThisIsEngineering on Pexels.com

Yes, you know the one. Dylan Thomas. Old age. Rage. I’m in one of those funny moods again.

Have you ever had one of those days when you just want to give up? I spent last night with a head crammed with things to write about but couldn’t for the life of me make anything into a remotely interesting post. I have a stack of things to do, just to keep up, and the problems of the world also seem to have descended on me. Sometimes it just happens.

The anticoagulant service has messed up on my testing. It isn’t their fault. The IT in the blood testing department went down a couple of weeks ago and although my test was due the day after they restarted, it seems to have been caught up in the general mess. The nurse who tested did OK, the lab tested it, but nothing happened. That’s what happens when you get giant organisations. It’s also what happens when these organisations don’t invest in new equipment. The trouble is that the NHS can’t afford new equipment. They are being challenged on all fronts. Nurses want more money, doctors want more money, people want treatment for fertility and gender issues (neither of which is actually an illness). People want inquiries because they don’t think they are getting good service, people want expensive drugs, people want compensation when things go wrong.

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

And the final result is that they don’t have robust IT systems so my blood test goes missing.

Now, before you all start complaining about my insensitivity, yes, I know that each of those problems is serious, if not actually tragic for the people who suffer. I know we all want more money. I am, however, able to access the pay scales of the NHS online and I have family who work for the NHS and I can tell you that compared to shop assistants and and care workers NHS staff don’t do too badly.

The bottom line is that the NHS, even if it took all the money in the country, would not be properly funded. The demands we make on it are just too high and, frankly, unrealistic.

And that’s before we look at the demands of education, defence, police, infrastructure and all the other things we take for granted. Or before I start to discuss my First World Problems of lawyers, moving house, health and vegetables.

I’m hoping that, having spent my morning in the company of a list and some self-discipline, I have sorted out a few of my problems. By tonight I may be back as a fully functioning human being rather than a zombie. Then I can start to sort out the problems of the world.

And here’s another version to play me out. I may have it read at my funeral, if I can find a suitable Welshman to read it. And if I have a funeral. Those cheap plans where they take you away in a van and burn the body are looking very attractive as I embrace the world of living off a pension.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

 

Yesterday it Rained

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Yes, I read a lot of low-brow books…

It was raining when I woke up yesterday, it stayed raining all day and I’m not sure when it finished. It was the sort of rain that fell without enthusiasm, resulting in a sulky teenager of a day. I didn’t enjoy it. In the afternoon I had a hospital appointment, again. It was quite short, which made it more annoying. It took me longer to travel than I spent with the anaesthetist, and I can see the hospital from my house. I actually waited longer for the appointment (which was twenty minutes late), than I spent in the consultation. And all because the hospital couldn’t be bothered to organise itself to have everything done on one day.

It’s typical NHS – the attitude that we have nothing better to do than travel to and from hospital on their whim.

To make it worse, they had horse racing on TV. It’s a subject I’m not sure about, Great stories, the Sport of Kings, heroism, endeavour and spectacle. Plus rich people playing, animal cruelty, gambling and crime. You can see why Dick Francis was able to become a best seller. My head is now crammed with information about soft going, high knee actions and bloodlines that I really don’t need.

More books

Julia just sent me some pictures of the trip to Niagara Falls with the boys. I’d like to be with the family, though I’m not unhappy on my own. I’m also not bothered about the falls. I’ve seem much nicer waterfalls in England and I didn’t need to risk my health by flying in a metal tube filled with germ-ridden strangers.

And now, I’m off to do things – pharmacy then lunch with my sister. That reminds me – I need to get vaccinated again. I really must remember as there is a time limit on it.

After that I need to do enough to make it look like I’ve been working on decluttering over the two weeks Julia has been away.

And finally . . .                                                                                                                      Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The New and Improved NHS System

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A Discussion on New Technology

I just had to cancel a blood test appointment. It was my fault as I’m trying to carry details of too many things in my head at one time. They rang me in the evening while I was snoozing, woke me, gave me results, arranged a new test date and then left me to wake up. It wasn’t until later that my brain oozed into action and I realised I’d just agreed to an appointment I couldn’t attend. They have a new system at the GP where you use a new internet system to book appointments. The only problem is that amongst all the NHS clutter of various systems and apps I can’t find it. I think I did eventually find the right link but there may be a delay in conforming my ID and when I do get signed up I may have to wait two working days for action. As the appointment is on Wednesday I can’t wait two working days.

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

In the end I rang to talk to a receptionist. After all, with this new system all the phone lines will be free won’t they? Ha ha. I was, at 8.58, number 16 in the queue. So much for that. So I went on the old online system and cancelled the appointment. I can’t book a new appointment online as there are none for three weeks, but if I ring up for an INR test they will fit me in next week. They don’t seem to have accounted for INR tests with the online system. I mean, why would you? If you are spending millions on software you wouldn’t bother getting it right, would you?

I’m getting the idea that our old friend, the “New and Improved” system is back and, as usual, only one of the two things. As this one isn’t “Improved” it must merely (as so often) be “New”.

Has anybody else tried it? If you have, can you tell me how it is an improvement on “the app”, which I never used, and how this was an improvement on the SystmOnline set-up, which I still use (despite the trendy mis-spelling). And, of course, is any of this expensive technology an improvement on ringing and speaking to a receptionist?

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I thought I’d finish on a cat to calm myself down . . .

Another Quick Note

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Valentine’s Day on the Farm

My hands feel a lot better. However, they still aren’t great and I am having to be careful not to knock the right hand or try to do too much with it.

I went for a blood test this morning, which went well. I then picked up something for Julia, which also went well. It’s nice to feel useful, and it’s not a feeling I often have any  more.

Back home, I rand Urology, using the number that came with one of the recent letters. I got through quite quickly. They don’t seem to have had the letter I sent (though I’m suspicious of this) and they tel;l me they only have a record of one letter being sent. As I was told yesterday, I have an appointment at the end of April. They acknowledge there were two letter and I was given the wrong information, but this doesn’t mean they will bring the date forward. I will just have to stay lucky and/or hope for a cancellation.

I am now going to make notes and send letters off again. One will be to the Urology address given on the letter (which is very like the one I used before) and the second will be via email to the people who deal with complaints. I don’t like making official complaints but they messed up and as a result my consultation is put off for three months. I don’t think it’s a fair way to treat patients. I also think their contact procedures need altering to make it easier to make contact.

Bread

To be fair, they picked up the phone quite quickly at the Urology Department and did seem to listen, even if they couldn’t do anything.

However, when you look up the consultant in charge of the team, their online presence is almost entirely about their private practice. I have a feeling the NHS, and patients who hve to be seen for free, don’t form a large part of his professional life.  That has always been one of the problems with the NHS.

Then I went back to the surgery to see a doctor. This appointment was to discuss blood test results. It was, as usual, inconclusive, and they will test again in three months.

Soup maker with rammed earth wall in the background – oh happy days!

We have a thing at the shop where customers, and my workmate, query why seemingly identical items are priced differently. My reply – pricing is an art and not a science and there is no reason for prices to be identical. We aren’t buying stuff from wholesalers and we aren’t selling items with a recommended retail price or closely competing rival (like supermarkets). Our price  will vary according to what we paid, what we think the market price is, and even what the weather is like.

I imagine that diagnosis is very much like that, and sometimes only a second test will show the pattern which unlocks the answer. Patience, weight loss and leafy green vegetables should do the trick. Of course, lots of leafy green vegetables will also play havoc with my Warfarin – nothing is ever simple.

Sheepdog in training

The pictures are from February 2016 and have nothing to do with Urology or the NHS.

 

Words Fail Me

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It’s Monday, I’m sitting at the computer, and my fingers are feeling a lot better than they did last night. I really am going to have to sort out my pill taking practices. Unfortunately the first knuckle of my right hand is still sore and is making it difficult to use the entire hand, including holding a pen. These things are sent to try us.

Duck – Arnot Hill Park

I’ve just completed my State Pension application form online. I don’t generally like official forms, but this one was quite simple and is intended to give me money. I could get used to this.  Normally they are a bit trickier and are aimed at costing me money.

Meanwhile I am starting to worry that the telephone consultation I had booked for 10.45 has gone astray. It’s over two hours late and though it’s not unknown for them to be late, I am less confident in the system than I used to be after what happened with my last telephone consultation.

Sadly, the Pension Application is the only writing I’ve done. Apart from making an omelette and a cup of tea it’s also the only work I’ve actually done. I had intended that today would be a day of industry. How many times have you herd that?

Fox – Arnot Hill

I just tried to ring the surgery to check about the appointment. The phone isn’t connecting and, at the moment it is also refusing to shut down. This is the second time it has done this to me and I am not happy. While it is trying to shut itself off (how difficult can that be?) nobody can get through.  In the days of simple phones this never happened.

I’ve now been waiting nine minutes to get through to the surgery and have had to listen to their recorded message about the new contact system starting in March. Apparently it will be quicker and more efficient to make contact via an online form. This will be reviewed by “triage practitioners” . This means that either the NHS has recruited a whole new level of specialist staff or they have given the receptionists a new job title. Guess which I feel is most likely.

I don’t suppose it will be a surprise to find out that I’m not keen on modern technology.

After 18 minutes I have progressed from number 7 to number 21 in the queue!

Sculptures at Arnot Hill

A Good Day in which Bad Things Happened

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Crocus at Nottingham

Now, where was I?  I’ve had a message from NHS on my phone telling me that I have  new appointment with Urology for the end of April and can expect a letter shortly. I’ve had a letter, which tells me something completely different and which answers none of the questions I asked have been answered but there are a few phrases thrown in which appear to be fudging round the issue. I would say, looking at it, that they have had the letter, decided not to treat it seriously, throw in a few phrases like “administrative error” (without actually admitting one).

The letter, which arrived next day, tells me I must ring them to arrange a further appointment or they will remove me from the list.

It appears that the letter mentioned in the phone message is not the one that arrived. So yet again, I have two contradictory letters. Fortunately, though uncomfortable, I am not in poor health as a result. However, if this carries on much longer I might be.

Daffodils

I’ve also had two other phone calls. One told me that a recent urine sample shows signs of an infection and in view of my recent medical history I should probably have antibiotics. That might explain why I have been feeling under the weather recently, but apart from that vague feeling I have had no sign of illness. The other wanted me to make an appointment for a face to face discussion of my recent blood tests. This is driving Julia mad, as she suspects it means something bad is about to happen.

I assume that if something bad was about to happen they wouldn’t leave it for two weeks. However, I won’t make too many predictions because if it does turn out to be bad I don’t want to look like an idiot.

Tulips

Despite all this, the actual big news of the day is a rejection. It’s probably  good thing, as it has given me something to moan about instead of the NHS. It was a submission I nearly didn’t make at the end of last month. It features a guest editor, a submission limit of three tanka (rather than the usual 10), and a theme.

I have not had a lot of luck with guest editors over the years, though there is no sensible reason why they should be more difficult to satisfy than regular editors. Three poems, which is a standard number for anthologies and competitions, always seems to give you a lower chance of acceptance than magazines allowing ten, though again, if they are good enough, one would be plenty. And finally, the theme. I hate themes and often avoid submitting when they are required. I write poems. Themes are more like writing exercises.

Early irises at Harlow Carr

It’s always annoying to get a rejection, particularly in the middle of a good run, but these things happen. It’s also annoying to get rejected when I didn’t hold out high hopes in the first place. It is too easy, as I used to do as a beginner, to blame circumstances and develop a myth about certain things. There is no reason why a guest editor should be difficult, or why just submitting three should reduce my chances of acceptance.

The prejudice against themes, I will retain. They are fair enough in anthologies but I see little use for them in other publications.

It’s tempting to go off on a rant about other things i don’t like in making submissions, but I will resist the temptation. If poems are good enough they will be accepted.

Celandines

However, as I was told today, acceptance is subjective and another editor may have made a different choice. That’s meant to be encouraging, and implies that my submission is good enough to be selected by a different editor. Unfortunately, read another way, it implies that no matter how brilliant the poem, the spectre of rejection is always there if an editor take as against it.

The day, despite the NHS and rejection, was excellent, but that will have to wait for another post, as this is heading for 700 words and I need to get to bed.

The pictures will be spring flowers from various years. The crocuses, and even a few daffodils are appearing and this is one of my favourite times of year.

Japanese Quince – Arnot Hill Park

The Calm Before the Complaint Letter

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I’m not sure much has happened, but I have letters to write, and when I have letters to write I tend to veer into procrastination rather than jump into action.

If you recall my previous misadventures with Urology, you may recall that I went in for a minor operation, then went in for a second, which they cancelled on the grounds I hadn’t been in for the pre-operation check. I had, I had a witness to that effect, but they hadn’t processed it despite the fact that I was actually in hospital at the time. I was in hospital at the time due to the consequences of the first operation, which had not gone to plan. They even went so far as to accuse me of lying.

Next time they tried to admit me they couldn’t find a bed, a fact they only discovered after I had waited for three hours in my dressing gown.

I complained, but fell victim to the delaying tactics of the NHS complaints system. This time I am getting off the mark quicker and they will have the first complaint tomorrow, before they have had time to prepare. There seems little point in being reasonable and patient about it when they will do their best to do nothing about it.

However, as they keep pointing out, a missed hospital outpatient appointment costs £120, and the total is approximately £1 billion a year. It’s my duty to help them cut this cost by stopping them messing up again. I expect they will be grateful for my input, because doctors always love it when you correct them.

I am going to have to be careful how I phrase things as I’m hungry, and this never improves my mood. All this dieting might be good for my waist and health but it’s no good for anyone else I have to deal with.

Robin at Clumber, Nottinghamshire

A Fine Line

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Great Tit feeding young

There’s a very fine line between getting arrested and not getting arrested when you speak to a strange woman on the phone and describe your genitalia, and its problems, to her. That fine line depends on whether she is a doctor or not. And even then you would be wise to ring during working hours. At 3am, for instance, it is less acceptable.

Even then I came off the phone wondering if I should have been quite as informative, as we had never been properly introduced.

Blue Tit

Yes, I rang the surgery this morning. At 8am I was Number 17 in the queue. It seems they have started opening at 7.30. I’d have tried earlier if I’d known. I was in the queue for 20 minutes and got through to a receptionist, who informed me that there were no more appointments available today. However, she did say, after listening to my story, that she would arrange for a phone appointment later that morning. So I went back to bed. A week of disturbed sleep had left me exhausted. Last night, for instance, I was up more than once an hour as my bladder sprang into action on a regular basis. I say “action” as it’s part of the expression. In truth there was just about enough action to stop me exploding but not enough to empty properly.

The doctor rang at 11ish and proved to be a very good doctor. She listened to the full story and quickly grasped the essentials (no that wasn’t meant to be a double entendre but I’ll leave it there as it seems too good to lose). I have another week off work as it is impractical to work in  a shop whilst having dodgy bladder control, so I no longer feel guilty about being absent. I also have a referral to Urology, albeit with a note about ringing them if I haven’t heard from them by 22nd December.

Great Tit at Rufford Abbey

To be fair, two months is pretty good compared to some of the old waiting lists we used to have.

In the 1920s, before the NHS, one of my Uncles was born with learning difficulties. The doctor’s bill for his early care was equivalent of two year’s wages for my grandfather. This, was the Land Fit for Heroes that Lloyd George had promised. Despite this start my uncle grew up to be a man much admired in the local community for his great good humour and work ethic.

Marsh Tit at Rufford Abbey

My mother, in the late 1960s, (the Golden Years, if you listen to people going on about the Good Old Days) came close to death as she waited patiently for an operation on  a goitre. It seems it had grown so large that it could have suffocated her in her sleep. This was, apparently her fault, though how she was supposed to know was never explained.

I’m obviously not happy about fifteen hours spent waiting in A&E, but compared to previous generations I’m not doing so bad.

Feeding tits at Budby Flash

It’s birds again today. Birds are calming, though they illustrate another fine line. I typed “tits” into the search box. I once got into serious trouble with Julia about doing that until I showed her the pictures. You would think they would either Americanise it, as with so many things, to chickadee or go back to titmouse, which was what they were called prior to the Great War.

And Now – Part 2

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This is Part Two of the post I wrote in the early hours of the morning.

At that point I was still struggling, but a couple of hours later, things seemed to improve. It wasn’t a great improvement but it was enough to give me some hope. This morning I felt better again, and was pleased to note a distinct improvement in the quality of my urine, which is where I will stop. There are, I’m sure, websites and specialist journals devoted to the subject, but for general purpose, lightweight blogging, which is where I consider my blog fits, “improved”  will suffice.

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Having said that, you might be amused by this short article (written by a proper scientist rather than a blogger with a questionable sense of humour). She treats it in a much less flippant manner than I would. I think I may have thought of a profession for the historical detective novel I keep thinking of writing.

I had a blood test this morning (does the joy never cease).  I’m now waiting to see what problems arise from this, as nothing in the NHS is ever simple. There are two sorts of nurse in our surgery – the ones who talk, listen and do their best to help. And the ones who are brisk, talk over you, and work to their own agenda. I’m not so keen on the second sort, though I would forgive them if they seemed to offer a better service than the first sort. They don’t.

Meanwhile, I am on the mend, so can’t complain too much.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As an aside, they often say that the symptoms of confusion in the elderly are a sign of a urinary tract infection rather than actual dementia and I can now confirm this. The pain/panic/symptoms on Monday completely took away my ability to concentrate. Yesterday, with symptoms and sleep deprivation I had severe problems concentrating and keeping up with conversations. Today, despite improvements i’m conscious that I’m dragging my feet in mental terms (though my ability to mix metaphors remains strong).

It seems that I have perpetually linked bladder problems with soft fruit in the mind of one of my blog readers (sorry Derrick!). Let’s see what comments I get from using these pictures . . .

Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com

Warning – Danger of Oversharing

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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.