My life unfortunately seems to revolve around hospital waiting rooms and five minute meaningless appointments which have you whirling around a system which doesn't work. I mean, Who am I? I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer nor am I the smartest person on the block but, please! I'm not stupid.
I sat in a hospital room with my daughter, it was her appointment, one she has waited for after a series of mess ups over the last 4 months. In this room there were people of all ages, sex and nationality. We were informed of a lengthy wait due to another clerical error and indeed what followed was pure frustration.
People around me fidgeted and squabbled about being seen by the doctor out of turn. The term, "I've been here longer than they have" was the single most heard expression. Frankly I was sick of hearing the moan, and finally when our name was called, I saw this woman stare right through me as if to drop me on the spot --- National Health Service Ugh!
The usual set of questions were asked, why do they always make out it was something you do, did, ate, or created. I always feel guilty and my daughter had the same impression.
We began by describing the very nature of the visit --- A bad back for two or more years, the fact that she's only 15 and physio not resolving the problem. Why was I ready to up and leave by the time she'd written out a request form? Because I knew what was coming next, Boy! I could do this job standing on my head in a bucket of mud, stark naked -- er! now I'm getting carried away. We trotted off to the vampires ( blood room ) with a stressing teenager by my side and an equally stressed out hubby who by this time was thinking about his stomach and the lack of food. We were faced by another room full of the same faces as before, " Fancy seeing you again" one said!
"Yes fancy" I said rather sarcastically. The wait was longer than I thought possible. Were they taking pints or just samples? Then it was our turn and not before time. My hubby had raided the cafe and was on his 3rd donut and 4th cup of coffee, any longer and we'd have needed the cash dispenser to pay for all the junk he was shoving into his gob.
We entered the room and I knew immediately that this phlebotomist was not a happy bunny. She raised her voice and clutching the request form gave me a mouth full of abuse. My temperature rose, my heart missed several beats, I was changing into the Hulk! ---Don't make me angry! I blew! She was accusing us of ignoring the cut off point for clinic appointment's blood work. How in the **** was I supposed to know, was there a note on the door? No! I hollered back. Was there anyone available to tell me otherwise? No! Who did she think she was talking to? I got an apology.
The NHS needs a stress programme. It needs an influx of manners, sympathetic people and a new strategy.
Finally after 4 hours we came home, nothing to show, no nearer a diagnosis, and an afternoon wasted and expensive. I need some management here or I might just remain The Hulk.