It has been one of those weeks.
The week started on Friday with a visit to the GP.
The indoor critic was examined and Antibiotics prescribed.
Saturday things had worsened and so a visit to the out of hours service at the hospital was called for.
This resulted in a further examination by the surgical registrar and stronger Antibiotics being prescribed.
Sunday we held our breath.
Monday, we went to the newly opened Ambulatory Care Unit, in English that translates as walk-in clinic or clinic for the walking wounded.
More examinations followed, not sure how many surgical registrars there are, but I suspect that we saw them all.
Then into the room came the Surgeon, Alpha Male inevitably, who pronounced> We will operate tomorrow.
When we arrived at Surgical Admissions no-one knew who we were or why we were there.
Eventually, yet another surgical registrar arrived and the operation was given the green light.
That evening the indoor critic was discharged into the care of the District Nurses.
So how did the NHS do?
It was a bit curate's eggish, i.e. good in parts!
Some lovely, kind, attentive people, Dr Sohail the third surgical registrar, the operation and the care from the District Nurses and so the indoor critic lives to criticise another day.
But Nova Virus warnings, some failure of communication, questioning why the Wheelchair was needed, and the Alpha Maleness of the Surgeon, who I suspect had never been questioned before by someone who's own Alpha Maleness quickly surfaced as a defensive strategy.
But all is not well in the Kingdom of Bevan. The cracks in the walls. The number of administrators wandering around with pieces of paper in hand presumably measuring time and motion? Every department operating in its own Silo. It was the patient who had to make sure that each intervention was fully briefed about related matters that could affect likely outcome.
Car Parking which ensures that you arrive for your appointment with raised blood pressure.
It is clear that the system is under strain, the institutional heart monitors are beeping uncertainly and whether we will reach a state of institutional flat lining is unclear.
The privatising vultures are circling waiting for the opportunity to descend on the carcass, pick it clean and clear off with the profits.
I was born three years before Nye Bevan introduced the NHS:
The week started on Friday with a visit to the GP.
The indoor critic was examined and Antibiotics prescribed.
Saturday things had worsened and so a visit to the out of hours service at the hospital was called for.
This resulted in a further examination by the surgical registrar and stronger Antibiotics being prescribed.
Sunday we held our breath.
Monday, we went to the newly opened Ambulatory Care Unit, in English that translates as walk-in clinic or clinic for the walking wounded.
More examinations followed, not sure how many surgical registrars there are, but I suspect that we saw them all.
Then into the room came the Surgeon, Alpha Male inevitably, who pronounced> We will operate tomorrow.
When we arrived at Surgical Admissions no-one knew who we were or why we were there.
Eventually, yet another surgical registrar arrived and the operation was given the green light.
That evening the indoor critic was discharged into the care of the District Nurses.
So how did the NHS do?
It was a bit curate's eggish, i.e. good in parts!
Some lovely, kind, attentive people, Dr Sohail the third surgical registrar, the operation and the care from the District Nurses and so the indoor critic lives to criticise another day.
But Nova Virus warnings, some failure of communication, questioning why the Wheelchair was needed, and the Alpha Maleness of the Surgeon, who I suspect had never been questioned before by someone who's own Alpha Maleness quickly surfaced as a defensive strategy.
But all is not well in the Kingdom of Bevan. The cracks in the walls. The number of administrators wandering around with pieces of paper in hand presumably measuring time and motion? Every department operating in its own Silo. It was the patient who had to make sure that each intervention was fully briefed about related matters that could affect likely outcome.
Car Parking which ensures that you arrive for your appointment with raised blood pressure.
It is clear that the system is under strain, the institutional heart monitors are beeping uncertainly and whether we will reach a state of institutional flat lining is unclear.
The privatising vultures are circling waiting for the opportunity to descend on the carcass, pick it clean and clear off with the profits.
I was born three years before Nye Bevan introduced the NHS:
In his collection of essays In Place of Fear he wrote: The collective principle asserts that .... no society can legitimately call itself civilised if a sick person is denied medical aid because of lack of means.
In the same book he also wrote: A free health service is pure socialism and as such it is opposed to the hedonism of capitalist society.
On May 7th the country will face a clear choice and depending if it chooses 'capitalist hedonism' I could well find that I am part of a generation that was born before the NHS was founded and dies after the NHS itself has died.
As the Talking Heads song Once in a Lifetime observes, if that happens and the Kingdom of Bevan is exchanged for the Kingdom of Capitalist Mis-Rule:
(And) you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go to?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ... Am I wrong?
And you may say to yourself
My God! ... What have I done?
In the same book he also wrote: A free health service is pure socialism and as such it is opposed to the hedonism of capitalist society.
On May 7th the country will face a clear choice and depending if it chooses 'capitalist hedonism' I could well find that I am part of a generation that was born before the NHS was founded and dies after the NHS itself has died.
As the Talking Heads song Once in a Lifetime observes, if that happens and the Kingdom of Bevan is exchanged for the Kingdom of Capitalist Mis-Rule:
(And) you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go to?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ... Am I wrong?
And you may say to yourself
My God! ... What have I done?
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