NHS nowadays

Though our protégée has been well cared for in hospital, the experience has hardly been a delight.  Her ward was cramped - four to a room - and dingy.  Yesterday’s discharge process was reminiscent of mine two years ago, only worse.  A long wait in the ward for transfer to the discharge ‘lounge’, and another wait there for medications to arrive: though less long than I’d to wait.

The said lounge had a number of patients in beds.  Overspill?  Or maybe they were waiting to return to beds in care homes.  Another patient awaiting discharge was firmly shackled to a prison officer, with whom he seemed to be sharing a friendly repartee.  Anyway we were glad to be out of there, free tea and biscuits notwithstanding (and gladder still today to have reports of a good night’s sleep at home).  I was a little disappointed that there was no attempt to talk through the discharge letter, nor to explain the new medication regime.  Celà dit, we ought to have done that when we got her home, but were maybe too tired to think of it. 

Modern Times, Chapter 97

We sat for some hours yesterday in the Emergency Department of the main hospital of a nearby unitary authority, though not as long as the customer of their services had had to.  It took 13 hours to complete assessment and admission (with, thank goodness, a relatively minor issue that will nevertheless need some days’ monitoring).  As always, the care received, however slow, was thorough and competent, mostly at the hands of immigrant staff.  As with my experience over the past couple of years, we got to meet a lot of lovely caring people.  But.  (1)  The Brit medics with ambition bugger off to the Gulf or Australia where they are paid appropriately for their skills.  (2)  The South Asian, African, Pilipino and other immigrant medical and caring staff are attracted by higher salaries than they would earn at home, thus depriving their concitoyens of their skills.  (3)  Meanwhile, the remaining junior hospital doctors are about to go on strike again.  Get the picture?  WTF?

As for the hospital, unlike ours it has grown and sprawled over the decades, and is plainly struggling to meet demands.  The ED (of which more anon…) waiting room was full to bursting, and we three sat for hours on hard chairs in the corridor, having constantly to dodge passing beds, trolleys and wheelchairs.

Nomenclature.  What we used to know as ‘Casualty’ came for a time to be known as Accident and Emergency (A&E).  Perhaps to discourage people with cut fingers (j’y fus!) from cluttering the place up, it has been re-named Emergency Department (ED).  A visitor might wonder for a moment why such huge resources were being devoted to erectile dysfunction.

Back at the ranch, I’m allowed to drive again, which takes a bit of the load off Martyn.  It’s nice to have the independence again, though I was reminded yesterday why I try to avoid driving at night.  Fortunately, the roads were dry.  I used to dread returning from a tiring day at the hobby after dark along busy, winding wet roads, dazzled by oncoming traffic.

The leaves have been falling for a while now, so - to put a positive slant on matters - we are starting to enjoy the coloured bark of the cornus shrubs.  The magnolia stellata is budding up nicely, and the little cyclamens are flowering fit to bust.  Our rather confused cistus pulverulens bloomed yesterday, and we have quite a lot of antirrhinum flowers - all self-sown.  It’s almost time to chop down the sedums and hellebores.  We still have a lot of pansies and bulbs to plant in the pots on the terrace, so are hoping for fine weather tomorrow.

Good idea. Hmm.

It occurred to me a while go that my watch strap could do with a wash.  It’s a woven stainless steel job, and had got rather darker over time.  Well, I detached it and soaked it in kitchen degreaser for an hour or two, which resulted in something resembling ox-tail soup.  Rinsed in fresh water, it was still looking manky, so I soaked it again overnight in the same product, and came down this morning to an equally unedifying spectacle.  

Talking of cleansing, it’s good to see that the establishment is taking some modest steps to clean up the royal family.  It would be nice to think that this process would lead to some decent results.  It would also be nice to think that the manifest opposition to a certain orange tyrant might bring him down, or at least under democratic control.

A brief holiday

I’ve spent the last five nights being waited on hand and foot in an establishment that’s almost as good as a hotel - except for the menu and wine list.  I refer of course to the Tunbridge Wells Hospital, where I’ve had a repair done to a hernia that resulted from my cancer job almost exactly two years ago.  I was in the care of the same surgeon as last time, and a lot of the care staff were also the same as last time: it was like a reunion with old friends.

I had a nice room looking east across the Weald towards the North Downs.  It’s a pity it was right next to the sometimes raucous nurses’ station, but at least that meant that, if I had to ring the call bell, someone was there quickly.  Of course, the catering was pretty institutional and bland, but I wasn’t using a lot of energy, so better fare would have been wasted.  The surgeon is happy with the results, and a modest extra benefit was that he had seen the encouraging results of a CT scan I had a week before.

Of course, I had drains for a few days, which made trips to the loo a bit complicated.  But in the early days I couldn’t get out of bed anyway.  Mercifully, I didn’t need a catheter or an epidural, so the external plumbing was limited.  Another mercy is that I don’t need anti-coagulants, so am spared the self administered jabs I had to do for weeks after the last do.  Even better, I didn’t have to hang around in the discharge lounge until the pharmacy got its arse into gear.  That took over three hours last time, and was the worst part of the whole experience.

So I was discharged straight from the ward as soon as my discharge letter came through, and Martyn was on hand to see to my case: I have to avoid heavy lifting for six weeks.  Getting up from bed and from low chairs is still pretty painful, though that’s starting to ease now.  Of course it doesn’t help that I’ve caught a cold - and there’s only one place I could have got it!  Coughing and sneezing are no fun!  

But I have in general nothing but praise for the hospital and its staff, a clear majority of whom are immigrants, all of them unfailingly competent and caring.  The threat from the so-called Reform party that they would end indefinite leave to remain would wreck the NHS, which wouldn’t need a lot of wrecking these days.

Good service

The gutter on the back of the house has been overflowing for a while, and the jokers who put cards in the mailbox advertising such services didn’t trouble themselves to reply to messages.  We took to the internet to look for someone to sort it, and give the sitooterie roof a wash while they were at it.  The outfit we chose responded clearly and helpfully, and sent a polite young man with an unpronounceable name this afternoon.  It has been a showery day, so (a) he had a lousy job, and (b) we could see at once that he’d done a good one.  Since we can do less and less for ourselves as the clock ticks on, it’s good to know that we can GSI that we can trust.  Not cheap in this instance, but value for money.  Company name on application.

Martyn has been labouring mightily at taming a new computer, and at a bit of spring cleaning in the kitchen.  We’ve both been peeling and chopping apples, so the old hands are complaining a bit.  Plenty more to do in that department: I think we have enough unblemished fruit to store for a while, but we have at least two batches of windfalls to peel and chop.  Meanwhile, the tomatoes are yielding quite well, but we shall definitely look for Sweet Olive seed next year!

Mellow fruitfulness

Martyn harvested the Bramley seedling apple tree this morning.  We have already had a lot of fruit, frozen several batches of purée and given some kilos away to friends and neighbours.  Best crop ever, but unfortunately the wee beasties agree.  We might be able to store some of the undamaged fruit, but I suspect we’re going to be busy peeling, slicing and stewing.  We shall need more containers, which the generous, philanthropic and altruistic Mr Bezos will deliver tomorrow.

In the decorative department, I potted up some dozens of pansy plug plants yesterday, so must remember to keep them watered.  A lot of the plants in the containers are getting past their best, though the fuchsias in the hanging baskets are doing pretty well.  

My geranium cuttings have been disappointing this year, so it’ll be time for new stock in the spring, if I’m spared.

While Martyn was picking apples, I was down at the local repair café, getting a pair of secateurs overhauled.  I’ve wittered on plenty in the past about this wonderful institution, and make no apology for returning to the subject.  Even if you only want to drop in for a cup of tea, it’s a great place to catch up with friends old and new.  One surprise was to meet the organiser of our u3a German conversation group, who had brought in a VHS recorder for repair.  Why, one asks?  Surely this is a case of Auntie’s good gramophone?  

But make no mistake: the volunteers who offer clock and bike repairs, tool sharpening and so much else are without exception likeable and friendly people.

Likewise our u3a friends.  Our computer group normally meets at a tennis club in town, but since the key holder couldn’t come, and the rain excluded tennis, the clubhouse remained stubbornly shut.  Organiser Eryll gamely invited us all to her place, where we had a pretty good conversation, despite the awful congestion of Disgustedville traffic.

Well, what to make of this week’s news?  I think it’s best I leave it to the Rory & Alistair podcast, The Rest is Politics.  But I’ll just say it’s a great shame that Angela Rayner has dropped such a resounding bollock.  She is - was - one of the best front bench advocates for HM Government, and her rise to high office from very difficult origins is a tribute to her energy and commitment.  I hope she’ll be back.

Unerwünschte Arzneimittelwirkungen

Aka side effects in a more economical language (though Nebenwirkungen is a slightly easier version available to those of the Teutonic persuasion).  Two days after the RSV vaccination I started a feverish cold, and five days on I’m still coughing and sneezing, and having trouble sleeping thanks to stuffed up airways.  I should grateful for the protection it’ll give me: on googling side effects I found that quite a few had similar experiences, but one comment from a no doubt US American contributor reported reluctance to pay the $500 the shot would cost!  I don’t usually have problems with jabs, though I do recall a similar reaction to a flu jab some years ago, and a smallpox vaccination when I was in my teens laid me low for a few days.  (I was due to go to Orléans that summer, and since there had been an outbreak in Wales, France wouldn’t let anyone in without a vaccination certificate.)

Well, I seem to on the mend: I did some overdue dead-heading and hacking back yesterday, and filled a bucket to fill up the council’s garden waste bin.  One believes in getting one’s money’s worth.  A propos garden, I think we may need to set aside a day for apple stewing.  The Bramley is groaning with fruit, and we don’t want to leave them to the beasties.  I think we might need the preserving pan!