#NHSCrisis

Two years ago this coming week I started my first course of Chemo and RT, the above photo was when I was still innocent about all that was ahead. 

I wasn’t originally going to post an update this week, but the events on the news channels and my experiences of the brilliant service I received from the NHS changed my mind. I will warn you though, these views are my own, and will probably not meet with the approval of everyone, they’re just based on my dealings over my life to date with the NHS.

Let’s go back a few years, actually quite a few years, ok 44 years. I fell down the stairs at school, I’m still convinced that Nigel Nelmes pushed me but I can’t prove it. My ankle hurt like buggery and swelled up to about three times its normal size. When I’d eventually cycled home my dad took me to see out local GP. I can’t recall his name, but I think he was relative of Genghis Khan and had roughly the same bedside manner. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was just a sprain and to stop moaning about it. Two days later I eventually went to the A&E Dept. at Royal Berkshire Hospital for an X-Ray which showed I had broken my ankle in three places and was in plaster for the next six weeks. This was my first real interaction with the NHS, a crap bit and a good bit. The following 40 years or so were fairly quiet, I’d go to the Dr’s with the odd complaint (& I am quite odd), I’d get a prescription for drugs, I’d ignore the instructions on the prescription and life would continue in it merry little way. My main interactions with the NHS were via the dentist. I’ve chronicled before my abject fear of the dentist since reading The Marathon Man, aged about 19, so I won’t go into that again, suffice it to say, I’m still petrified of that reclining chair.

When I was in my late 40’s I was viciously attacked whilst coaching U13s rugby by a fellow coach! Giles Perry decided that whilst we were demonstrating a specific drill to the kids that he’d break a few bones in my hand, always thought he was a bully. The club physio’s thought it was nothing more than a strain, the Dr I saw at the hospital the next day confirmed it was a break of two bones in the hand and six weeks encasement in plaster of Paris was in order. The Dr. said, and I quote “Mr Clark, at your age bones take longer to heal!”

So, for the first 40+ years of my life the NHS, once you got past cocking GP’s, had treated me really well, albeit for minor bumps and bruises.

Then came the Christmas of 2014. I’d been suffering from an abyss on my groin for a few days in the run up to Christmas, but had stoically continued with the celebrations by drinking my own body weight in booze etc……. come Christmas Day I was in agony, but somehow managed to get through the opening of presents, lunch and Dr. Who before conceding defeat and asking Carol to drive me to the hospital at around 10pm. Now bear in mind, this was Christmas night, the place was heaving and I wasn’t ill as such, just in quite a bit of pain. I lay on a gurney in the A&E Dept for probably six hours before I was treated, but in that time I was seen by a member of staff once every 30 minutes or so to make sure I was ok, I was given pain killers, I was treated with respect. In the waiting area there were people of varying degrees of illness. There was one guy though who was a total and utter pain in the backside, he complained about having to wait at the top of his voice at every opportunity. He was extremely abusive to the staff, who lets not forget were working on Christmas night, he was a complete cockwomble! I was eventually moved to a ward in the very wee small hours of Boxing Day and operated on that morning. Again, the treatment, and dignity I received from all the staff I met in my 48 hours stay was exemplary.

Fast forward 12 months to December 2015, within two weeks of seeing my GP I’d been told I’d got cancer and would be joining the conveyor belt that meant the treatment I’d get would be second to none in the world and it would cost me not one iota. Again, I’m not going to go over the last 24 months, there’s been a couple of dodgy points in treatment, but 99% of it has been brilliant. Take this week as an example.  needed to make an appointment with my NHS Dentist for a check up, and bear in mind my fear of the drill wielding maniacs! Rather than phoning as my voice was pretty shagged I drove up to my local practise, and made an appointment for the next day at 8.15am, how’s that for service? ......... #NHSCrisis? 

When I showed up my dentist was her usual self, very quiet, but very concerned. I’d last seen her the week before surgery when she wished me the best for what I was about to undergo. This time it was a case of a quick scrape round, an X-Ray and a bit of cleaning. See you in six months for more of the same.

My current voice valve had been in for just under three weeks and was now leaking quite badly. I’d first noticed it leaking last week at my father’s funeral in deepest, darkest Wales. We were supposed to be having the wake in a local Tea Room in Lampeter (my sister is doing Dry January, guess that’s why we were booked into a Tea Room rather than a pub), luckily we were early so 8 of us made an excuse and nipped into the nearest pub for a quick snifter. It was whilst drinking a glass of the finest Pinot on offer in Lampeter that I started to choke as it leaked straight down into my lungs. Over the next few days the leak continued and hit a real peak on Wednesday when I was taking a glug of water which avoided my throat, went straight past “Go” didn’t collect £200 and made a bee line for my lungs again. This was probably the worst incidence of leaking I’ve had and prompted me to get hold of Carol at work and ask her to come home as I was feeling so ill. That night Penny decided she’d play some games with Neville……

……… each night we put Neville into his crate for the night and lock the door. His crate is in my office at the back of the house, it’s also got the door to the garden which has the cat flap in it. At about 4.45am on Thursday Penny decided she’d go outside for a while, I think as she was walking past Neville’s cage she probably ran her paw along the bars just to wind him up, it worked, all hell broke loose with barking and howling, leaving me with little option but to get up. A quick run around the garden for a pee and a poo (Neville, not me) seemed to settle him down and by 6am he was sitting by my feet fast asleep and snoring. Meanwhile the cat had come back in and was also having a nap on our bed, joining a fast asleep Snory McSnore Face, AKA Carol. As I’d been feeling pretty rough when I went to bed on Wednesday night I didn’t bother putting a base plate and filter on my stoma, instead I just used a medical flap to keep mice and other such nasties out of the hole. It was whilst trying to have my first coffee of the morning that I noticed my chest as damp. The coffee, instead of making its way into my stomach was leaking straight out of the stoma hole and down my chest! I may just as well have poured it straight down the toilet and cut out the middle man. So at 7am on a cold, damp and dark Thursday I emailed the Speech and Language Team, wishing them a Happy New Year and asking for yet another valve change. I’d resigned myself to a weekend of managing carefully what I drank and probably trying to manage a nasty chest infection too. Oh well, time to start the working day. At 8am my phone went “Ping” and there was an email from Caroline my Speech and Language Therapist, an appointment for 3pm the same day was made and suddenly my mood lifted. I even gave Neville a quick stroke! ……………… #NHSCrisis?

Turning up at the ENT Dept. at the hospital on Thursday afternoon was like going back in time. More Scary than Scary said hello. I bumped into a chap I’ve been chatting to online for a while as he was leaving his appointment, good to put a face to a name. I also had a brief chat with the original Scary who was interested in how I was getting on. I got to see Caroline and Susan for the valve replacement, they are a great double act, a sort of younger and slimmer version of French and Saunders. They have a great ability of putting me at my ease whilst they’re poking around my stoma with a pair of pliers trying to pull the old valve out. This time we’ve gone for a dual valve system (no idea what it is) which will hopefully last longer than three weeks. I always feel comfortable talking to Caroline and Susan so I explained that the constant leaking was making me feel quite depressed and was having an adverse effect on life in general. I’m reluctant to make plans from around 18 days into the new valve as I feel it’ll start to leak, I’ve even cancelled or rearranged both work and social commitment as I’m not confident of being watertight that day. They understood perfectly my concerns and came up with a plan of action. I’ll be getting an X-Ray done of my swallow, similar to when I was in Churchill, this will show how my throat reacts to the swallow and how it handles food and liquid. It will give the consultants a much better insight into how the valve is fitting and any underlying problems that may be causing them to fail so quickly. Susan apologised that I’d have to probably wait two weeks for the X-Ray to take place…………… #NHSCrisis?

As an extra cherry on the cake Susan also told me she’d be referring me to the team who deal with scar tissue to show me the best way to manage it and to try and get feeling back into the right side of my neck……….. #NHSCrisis?

These have been my dealings with the NHS, with an odd couple of exceptions I’ve been treated with care, dignity and speed. Over the past two years I’ve got to speak to a number of people around the world who have also been going through various different treatments for cancer, almost to a person they’ve been envious of the treatment I’ve received, especially when they realise it is free at the point of care. It was pointed out to me last night that if I was in the USA with no insurance then it’s likely I would lose my house and be made bankrupt to pay for far inferior treatment. I of course know of some cancer patients in the UK who’ve had different experiences to mine, they have felt let down, alone and worried, but I can only pass on my own thoughts.

Now the other side of the coin that I see on a day to day basis. I see Carol leaving home at 7.15am to be in work by 8am. She’s very rarely home before 7pm, usually staying on to complete (unpaid) work or to look after patients who are still waiting for transport home…………….. #NHSCrisis!

If I’m ill (not cancer related) and need to make an appointment with my GP it’s almost impossible to get past the Receptionist, “Is it urgent?”, “Are you dying?” “Can it wait?” – Yes, No and No are my usual answers, before I’m offered an appointment in 3 weeks time, on a Sunday, at 6.30am……….. #NHSCrisis!

I watch the news and see stories of people waiting in an ambulance for hours before a bed becomes available………. #NHSCrisis!

I read stories of appointments that have been planned for weeks or even months getting cancelled at the last minute due to staff shortages……………….. #NHSCrisis!

I know of at least one Dr. who’s already planning of emigrating to the far side of the world as he’s sick of working in the NHS ………….. #NHSCrisis!

Maybe, just maybe, the way to get first class treatment is to be really ill?  #DoingitforDani and I agreed last night that we’d rather get really crap service and not be ill, rather than the brillant treatment we’ve both received because of what’s wrong with us.

Finally for this week, and to inject a degree of levity, here’s an update on Neville. He’s getting on really well, now walks off the lead in the park or the woods, usually pee’s and poo’s outside, and has become much more of a character. The lady who's been coming round for his 1 - 2 - 1 training sessions is really impressed at how quickly he's learning. Now if he’d only stay in bed asleep beyond 5am!

As always, thanks for reading.

To be continued……..

#Shoulder2Shoulder