Chez Moi

A few months back, Reader’s Digest published a study of the British National Health Service and though the results weren’t shocking, it still sent a jolt to see in black and white what you have suspected all along: if you think the day-time service is pants, then the nighttime is nothing but diabolical. The long waits, lack of facilities and other niggles aside, the fact that one can never get a decent health service, because, ironically, it itself is ailing, is almost laughable. ‘Almost’ because it sure isn’t laughing matter to be told that unless you are bleeding from four places, you are not classified as an emergency is not what you want to hear when you are ill and in desperate need of medical help.

The one time I was in hospital in Britain (touchwood!) was when I had my son six years back. The night nurse was surly, grumpy and wasn’t much of a reassuring sight to a scared first time mum-to-be. Extremely matter-of-fact and brusque, she was the nursing equivalent of “wham! bam! out you get!”. To say I was pleased when the shift changed at 7 AM and with it, brought a smiling, Scottish midwife was an understatement. The following night when I was left with a newborn, I wasn’t the picture of confidence. When I buzzed a midwife to ask if she could hand me my son from his cradle as my bottom was sore with the episiotomy stiches and wasn’t feeling too sure about my ability to transfer him safely to cradle to lap, I got a stinging rebuke for disturbing the other patients and herself, for such a trivial task! If I wanted my baby, well then I better help myself as there were far more important jobs she had to do, like feeding the infant she had in her arms, for a start.

I did after sweating bullets, shocked by the sharp words.

Another time, my husband was ill and on the advice of the emergency nurse on the NHS Direct helpline, he went to the local hospital at 9 PM or thereabouts. He should have taken the nurse’s suggestion of an ambulance but not wanting to create a mega scene, he went with a mate. Had he done that, he would probably seen a doctor that night. Instead, he sat in the waiting room with drunks, assorted moaning and bleeding people for more than four hours by which time, after being coughed on by most of the ill people in the South East of England, he stated he felt much better and came back home.

A former acquaintance had some horror stories to narrate after her delivery. Deciding to stay overnight in the hospital in the hope of some pain relief proved to be a serious error of judgement. When her husband and mother visited her the following morning, they were shocked to find her bed empty and no one having a clue where she had got to. They finally tracked her down in one of the bathrooms - sitting in a rapidly cooling tub of water, where she had been for the past hour or so, following the directions of a harried midwife when she complained of unbearable pain. It took the mother and husband all their energy to get her out - she was big and was a snug fit - and not too early too, as the baby crowned within seconds!

In the past seven years of living here, I have heard many more tales of NHS ineptitude and am in complete agreement with the survey. I know the overworked staff are not to blame - well, not completely anyway. Much help is needed, fast.

Question is, will anything ever be done enough to alter the current state of affairs?