Expanding appointments

 

Expanding appointments

It is a week of time-gobbling appointments. Monday’s dental appointment was three times as long as expected. I had to have three (or four, I lost count) anaesthetic injections. And to think, Vishal was contemplating not using any injections at all! Enough of that.

On Tuesday we had to go to a hospital a few miles away for a cholesterol blood test. I don’t know why. Perhaps the powers that be, who have little notion how to organise things, thought it would be a sensible idea to centralise things.

We duly turned up well before the appointed time, and booked in. No problems there. My blood was taken and then it was Barry’s turn. He’s supposed to have blood tests every few months. He reappeared very quickly, looking thunderous. The doctor’s notes were missing, so the phlebotomist couldn’t take a sample. However, all he needed to do was ‘phone our medical practice and get a doctor to authorise the blood-letting. Then the phlebotomist told him he could bang on the door, and he would be relieved of the requisite syringeful of blood. Annoying, but simple.

He rang the GP practice. He was number nine in the queue. Fifty minutes later he was able to speak to a long-suffering receptionist. She then had to consult a doctor. In another ten minutes, a doctor was available to speak to the phlebotomist, and the sample was taken.

Today will be spent making ‘phone calls and composing emails and letters to Wes Streeting (Secretary of State for Health and Social Care) local MPs, the CEO of the hospital, the CEO of the Foundation Trust, our medical practice, and anyone else we discover who should be made further aware of the inadequacy of the system.

Patients – we, the public – are being expected to take on more and more of the organisation of our medical treatment. We must make the appointments, chase the results, organise ongoing treatment if required. Many of us are perfectly capable of doing that, but there are many more who experience great difficulty.

People who are already feeling unwell can quickly be defeated by a system that appears designed to confuse. They don’t or can’t persevere, miss appointments, and become seriously ill. By the time they finally come to the attention of the medical profession, they may be much sicker than they would have been had they been seen in a timely fashion.

In short, the appalling IT system is completely inadequate and deteriorating all the time. Everyone agrees, from consultants to clinicians to nurses to receptionists, that the system is broken and needs urgent repair. There is huge frustration across the medical profession because a wildly inadequate system is putting people’s lives at risk.

Tomorrow, Barry has an appointment at another hospital for an MRI scan.

Fingers crossed!

New journey

New journey

                    This is a fair representation of me hobbling along.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I wanted to wait until Barry had finished all his explorations before I embarked on mine. However, backed up by the rest of the family, he was insistent that I ‘do something now, at least to get the ball rolling,’

It’s been some while since I’ve been able to go out for a ‘proper’ walk. I wrenched my knee in tussocky grass in April 2023 and thereafter, it took several weeks for my leg to recover. I compensated by my right leg taking most of the strain and I started to have problems with my right hip and knee and also my back.

Although I was not able to walk as far or as readily, life continued much as before. This summer, however, my right hip and knee have been troublesome. Whether or not it is relevant, after I had a tooth extraction in July, things became much worse. I said it was ‘referred pain’ or ‘trauma,’ but really, I was fooling myself. I said I would lose weight – that would be the answer, but it wasn’t. Barry took control, as he so often does, and on Saturday I went to have an x-ray at one of the local hospitals.

 I took a seat in the waiting room while Barry registered my details, because of course, I can’t do that for myself (!) and then he called to me. The chap next to me said, ‘You’ve been summoned,’ and I said, ‘It was hardly worth my while sitting down,’ which caused a ripple of amusement among the other people waiting.

Just in case we were confused about which department we were visiting, there were x-ray prints on the walls. I thought they were rather fine, but I only photographed one from an awkward sitting position.  

I didn’t have to wait long, and the process was so quick. Everything moved at the touch of a button. Maybe it’s been this way for decades, but I found it impressive.

Later on, after x-rays had been taken of knee and hip, I sat down to wait for Barry, when the man who’d been sitting next to me, walked past, and said, ‘You’ve moved.’ I said, ‘Not far, though,’ and he said, ‘Good luck, my darling. Have a nice weekend.’

It made me smile.

The results should be available later this week and then we consider next steps.

The previous week I had been sitting in another hospital waiting room, while Barry had something or other done – I’m rather losing track! 

Anyway, I was working on some puzzles in my ‘Haggard Hawks Book of Brain Teasers’ and became aware of the person beside me trying to see what I was doing, without actually leaning closer. I turned to him and said, ‘Do you want to know what I’m doing?’ and showed him the page I was looking at. His wife, sitting opposite, said, ‘He likes doing crosswords,’ and we spent an enjoyable few minutes puzzling out answers.

Not everyone sits, stony-faced, avoiding eye contact in these situations, I’m pleased to say. Naturally, I do recognise that many people in waiting rooms have dreadful problems and for them life is difficult, and I would never make light of their plight.

The Spider in Barry’s Eye

The morning Barry woke up with a spider in his eye it was sufficiently convincing to make him try and swat it away but it wasn’t a real arachnid. When he started seeing flashing lights he hot-footed it to the doctor who suspected a detached retina and tried to arrange an emergency hospital appointment, only it was the Day of the Strike, which turned out to be a bit of a damp squib. Stores nationwide reported a significant rise in their takings. However, hospitals were only admitting life-threatening emergencies and Barry’s predicament wasn’t urgent enough so he had to wait until the next day which meant that he had to cancel his luncheon appointment in London.

It was probable that he would have drops in his eye/s which would make his vision blurry making driving difficult for him and dangerous for fellow drivers! Therefore, as I was expecting to drop him off, I drove the twenty minutes or so to the hospital, which was not good exercise for my shoulder.  

As with most hospitals, or so it seems, a slow queue of cars inched towards the already full car park. I wasn’t intending to enter the car park but there was no way past the queue. We had agreed that Barry would register for his appointment, he would find out how long he might have to wait and let me know. If it was likely to be a short time, generally an unlikely scenario, I would stooge around and pick him up. If longer, I would go home and await his call. He was informed that he would have to wait at least an hour so I drove home, wincing all the way.

I had just beaten off over-excited dogs, principally Gus, who cannot tell the time and thought he’d been abandoned for at least twenty-four hours, and eaten a sandwich when Barry rang to tell me he was waiting for me to collect him. I clambered back into the car, pointed it in the direction of the hospital and gritted my teeth for the drive. 

The good news was that Barry’s retina was still firmly attached. Some of the vitreous gel had leaked causing the spider effect. His brain will eventually block the spider, just as it does floaters. I have learnt not to ask how the spider is . . .

Nonetheless he was advised that should the flashing lights recur with partial blanking of vision he must return post-haste to Accident and Emergency.

At the same time the central heating went on the blink – but that’s another story! 

It’s simple . . .

When an elderly person has spent some time in hospital, following a fall perhaps, or an infection (actually, infections usually occur after the elderly any person has been admitted to hospital) tests of preparedness to return home or to remove to another care facility are conducted. Sometimes, when a patient has demonstrated confusion, mental states are checked – 'What's your address?' or 'What day is it today?' (I am frequently unsure what day it is now that I no longer have the framework of a working day, so I don't think that's a reliable marker!) Otherwise the tests are used to assess mobility, strength and a degree of organisational ability in addition to mental capability.
One test that seems to be standard involves making a cup of tea – or coffee, I suppose, if tea is not the patient's beverage of choice. It reminds me of one of the tasks that used to be set for 5 and 6-year-olds – describing in correct sequence the stages required to make a sandwich, which is probably actually definitely more taxing than making tea or coffee. That reminds me – my grandson made tea a few months ago. When he brought the mugs to us - (We're not posh, we don't often use cups and saucers. You get more tea in a mug than a cup and don't have to keep getting up to refill it, not that we're lazy, of course!) - but as I was saying writing typing, Callum brought the tea to us. It was nice and hot but had lots of tea leaves floating in it. Gillian said tactfully, 'How did you make this, Callum?' 'I put a spoonful in each mug and poured in the boiling water,' he replied, clearly puzzled. It's the logical thing to do when that's the way tea is made – at home – with tea bags. Actually, I have no objection to some tea leaves in my mug but a complete teaspoonful is too much. Since then Callum has made tea correctly in the teapot.In the hospital utility room/kitchen, specially equipped with the appropriate requisites – a short flight of steps to check safety and ability on staircases, cooker, fridge, pots, pans, baking trays, mixing bowls, kettles, tea pots, mugs, cups and so forth – the patient is invited to make tea. Some fall fail at the first hurdle obstacle, unable to find the tea (often in a tea caddy labelled TEA). Difficulties over the choice of kettle should not arise – some are electric, others are heated on a hob. The examinee may be wondering how many people are expected to take tea and whether they would prefer cups or mugs but this is not to be taken into account – it is simply the ability to make a pot of tea that is being assessed. Now, some might fail because they are of the 'old school' – warm the pot and then empty – whoever does that?? (Me, occasionally, trying to impress . . . generally I like to 'shock' the flavour out of the tea leaves!) Others may omit to boil the water and attempt to produce a good brew with cold or tepid water. Yet others may not have the strength to lift a full kettle or teapot.
On the basis that making a pot of tea is an indicator of one's mental and physical abilities I must confess to failure in the first category! At the weekend I made tea many times but twice omitted the tea leaves! So, on those performances, I would definitely not pass the competence test!