The NHS

I have nothing but praise for the NHS. I think they have been brilliant in their support for me over the past two years – thank you Tony Blair. (I do not care what they say. I still think he is a great bloke - mind you I am still having treatment for my brain).

But they are a big organisation and like all such they do some funny things – I have worked for several big organisations and they all have their own strange ways – mind you the LSC always have to take things too far.

So the day after my last Radiotherapy session I get a letter from the hospital. Usual wad of leaflets. I have my own Key Worker! Sister Davenport knows all about my case, she will meet regularly with the gang of consultants who are following my progress. If I have any questions I can call at anytime 9 to 5 during the working week.
I do have some questions so I decide to make use of this splendid service. I telephone. I get an answer machine – Sister Davenport is on annual leave for two weeks. I can telephone Sister Davies who is covering for the two weeks. So I telephone Sister Davies. I get another answering machine. Sister Davies is busy comforting the sick but will get back to me ASAP if I leave my number. To be fair she rings back later that afternoon. Unfortunately she cannot help as she does not know who I am and cannot find my records, those naughty people in Radiotherapy have not sent them back. She will ask one of the consultants to give me a call after clinic on Thursday.

The next day I see my GP. She is a bit cross as she has had no information from the hospital despite the fact that everything is now electronic and she should have immediate access. I go through my story again. This is normal practice. Every time I see another Doctor I have to go through the story again. I used to think this was a cunning ruse to check whether I can think and talk but now I believe that Doctors do not trust anyone else’s notes and always want to do their own – just like teachers of course. My notes are now a huge brick And I do not blame them for avoiding reading them – I had a sly read one day as I returned form an X ray and they do not make very interesting reading. It would be quicker to read the last Harry Potter and far more interesting.
Now my GP is a redoubtable, assertive woman and the next day she contacts the hospital and soon has the records. She also talks to the boss consultant. She then telephones me! I have never been telephoned by a GP before and am amazed by such service. My GP quickly resolves all my questions. She is off on holiday now but will telephone again when she returns. Have I offended all these people? Why are they all leaving the country. The MacMillan nurse also went off two days after meeting me.

I first bought a house in Hill Top, West Bromwich thirty years ago – to be honest it was a shared purchase with the building society. My Aunty Betty said “Yoh doh want to move there our Bobby, the place is full of foreigners”. Relatives can be so embarrassing. Wrong too, I did want to go there, it was a friendly place.
The local surgery was a very battered house attached to a Funeral Parlour – is this symbiotic? You approached the surgery through an overgrown garden having blazed a trail through the shrubbery. Once you got inside the Doctor was a pioneer of recycling and you sat on Church pews – very hard wood, you needed to be fit to wait in that surgery. There was a one bar electric fire but it did not help as several of the windows had been carefully broken by local youths and the wind howled across the room. There was one of those Tesco Deli systems where you took a ticket and then engaged in negotiations with fellow inmates when the Doc opened his door and yelled ‘next’.
Then it was off down the linoleum to his little office. You hoped not to undress as there was a risk of frost bite.

Now I have a Doctor who telephones me at home! If I do go to the local surgey I have an appointment which they keep to and the Doctor comes to the waiting room to invite me in. I like things better now.