As a forthcoming candidate I thought I should find out a bit more about public services in the area. But I was a bit surprised when my body, actually my heart, decided to test out the NHS.
I had a chest pain which I first assumed was indigestion, but when it didn’t go away I went to the Doctors; the nurse gave me an ECG and very tactfully said it was fine but there was just one thing she wanted to check with the Doctor. I heard them talk – then laugh, a good sign, but then the Doctor came back with her. “You are going to have to go to hospital for a check up”. I couldn’t go home; I had almost no money; a mobile phone out of charge and I hadn’t even locked my car which was left in the car park of the surgery. The reason was that I had a very slow heart beat – similar to Bjorn Borg’s but he was a bit fitter than me. (At the hospital one of the nurses checking me asked if I was an athlete: as I was almost undressed at the time I assume she was joking).
Anyway, a few minutes later I was in the back of an ambulance, siren sounding, off to the Wansbeck (40 minutes Belford to Wansbeck, not bad). I was very well treated in the ambulance, and A&E, although I could sense the tension as they tried to find me a bed within the 4 hour target time, and sure enough 3 hours 55 minutes later I was taken to a ward (actually, this could be a co-incidence: the target time is for being treated and I was being treated from the moment I arrived).
I slept quite well and felt more comfortable in the morning. The only problems were first, how to phone people to say why I wasn’t where I was meant to be: my mobile had no charge, and of course I couldn’t remember any numbers without it, and the hospital would only let me make local calls. I couldn’t phone the people in London I was meant to be talking to; I couldn’t phone directory enquiries to find out numbers. Of course, the fact that I cared showed I must be feeling better. Second, I had run out of things to read: I had pinched (with permission) a golf magazine and Heat from the surgery but had exhausted them well before the paper trolley came by at lunchtime.
My number one tip: plan your hospital admission. Don’t visit your GP without an overnight bag. However, they did give me something to wash with and something to wear (although for some reason (fashion?) it was backless; they eventually gave me another one to wear frontless to create a tasteful discreet unitary garment. But it wasn’t a good look.
Actually, there was one major problem. I had to do an exercise ECG, where they try to make your heart break and then measure the consequences. Once done, if clear, I was told I could go home. It was requested in the morning but at early afternoon they said they could not do it that day and I would have to move to a new ward. I did, and spent 24 hours doing nothing, with no treatment, until the ECG the next afternoon after which I was sent home. As it happened I learned that they had found a time the day before, but my new ward nurses (without talking to me or the doctors) said I couldn’t go.
I remember from Mum’s two last hospital visits that you have to fight to get out of hospital. There’s supposed to be a beds shortage – yet they won’t let you go. I wasted 24 hours of bed space for no reason. My number two tip is for the NHS: learn how to let people leave.
My conclusion on my NHS experience exactly matches my prejudice beforehand. Most of the staff do fantastically well a job I cannot conceive of doing, but the processes and management in the hospital let them down.
But my heading – Fit for purpose? – obviously relates to me not the NHS. In fact, I’m still fit enough – my doctor said that a bit of stress would do me good, and they ruled out a lot of things while I was in hospital. Our political agent reminded me that our interests were aligned. The last thing he would want would be a by-election if I was elected and didn’t survive.
I had a chest pain which I first assumed was indigestion, but when it didn’t go away I went to the Doctors; the nurse gave me an ECG and very tactfully said it was fine but there was just one thing she wanted to check with the Doctor. I heard them talk – then laugh, a good sign, but then the Doctor came back with her. “You are going to have to go to hospital for a check up”. I couldn’t go home; I had almost no money; a mobile phone out of charge and I hadn’t even locked my car which was left in the car park of the surgery. The reason was that I had a very slow heart beat – similar to Bjorn Borg’s but he was a bit fitter than me. (At the hospital one of the nurses checking me asked if I was an athlete: as I was almost undressed at the time I assume she was joking).
Anyway, a few minutes later I was in the back of an ambulance, siren sounding, off to the Wansbeck (40 minutes Belford to Wansbeck, not bad). I was very well treated in the ambulance, and A&E, although I could sense the tension as they tried to find me a bed within the 4 hour target time, and sure enough 3 hours 55 minutes later I was taken to a ward (actually, this could be a co-incidence: the target time is for being treated and I was being treated from the moment I arrived).
I slept quite well and felt more comfortable in the morning. The only problems were first, how to phone people to say why I wasn’t where I was meant to be: my mobile had no charge, and of course I couldn’t remember any numbers without it, and the hospital would only let me make local calls. I couldn’t phone the people in London I was meant to be talking to; I couldn’t phone directory enquiries to find out numbers. Of course, the fact that I cared showed I must be feeling better. Second, I had run out of things to read: I had pinched (with permission) a golf magazine and Heat from the surgery but had exhausted them well before the paper trolley came by at lunchtime.
My number one tip: plan your hospital admission. Don’t visit your GP without an overnight bag. However, they did give me something to wash with and something to wear (although for some reason (fashion?) it was backless; they eventually gave me another one to wear frontless to create a tasteful discreet unitary garment. But it wasn’t a good look.
Actually, there was one major problem. I had to do an exercise ECG, where they try to make your heart break and then measure the consequences. Once done, if clear, I was told I could go home. It was requested in the morning but at early afternoon they said they could not do it that day and I would have to move to a new ward. I did, and spent 24 hours doing nothing, with no treatment, until the ECG the next afternoon after which I was sent home. As it happened I learned that they had found a time the day before, but my new ward nurses (without talking to me or the doctors) said I couldn’t go.
I remember from Mum’s two last hospital visits that you have to fight to get out of hospital. There’s supposed to be a beds shortage – yet they won’t let you go. I wasted 24 hours of bed space for no reason. My number two tip is for the NHS: learn how to let people leave.
My conclusion on my NHS experience exactly matches my prejudice beforehand. Most of the staff do fantastically well a job I cannot conceive of doing, but the processes and management in the hospital let them down.
But my heading – Fit for purpose? – obviously relates to me not the NHS. In fact, I’m still fit enough – my doctor said that a bit of stress would do me good, and they ruled out a lot of things while I was in hospital. Our political agent reminded me that our interests were aligned. The last thing he would want would be a by-election if I was elected and didn’t survive.
1 comment:
Heck, sorry to hear you have been unwell and had a possible scare. Do hope you feel much on the mend now. The Constituency needs you !! No pressure there by the way!
I'm not a big fan of the NHS but at least they are always there should we need them. You are right though, the nurses do an immense job at trying to cope but with staff shortages and disorganisation, not to mention the constant hygeine issues, it must be difficult for them.
Crystal J xx
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