HOSPITAL, 36 DAYS AND COUNTING
I have at last, been given a day, to find my way to hospital and remove my lodger, my tumour, on the 7th March. I have begun to be a little impatient, which was underlined this week after receiving a letter from Derifford hospital telling me how I needed to confirm my admission or my appointment would be offered to another patient. I understand that a standard letter needs to be composed and handed out to all their customers, shall we say, but the bluntness of its wording became more irritating, since it took me five days to finally have contact with a so-called human being.
On my hospital letter I was given a number to call, which put me through to my surgeons office; but once there a recorded message told me that nobody manned the phone and that it was pointless leaving a message because it was highly unlikely anyone would answer. “Well done”, I shouted, and went on to leave umpteen replies and rang numerous other numbers but it was not until my last rather angry message left on the mystery hospital phone, did I receive the dulcet tones of the hospital staff confirming my admission.
A number of questions arise, firstly why does it take one to become angry before you get anywhere with so many of these people? do they rate the urgency of ones situation or the importance of your call, by the medical situation you are in or by how inflamed you become. I managed four days of civility which for me is amazing anyway, but with the added irritation of my friend forcing my moods to change by the day, I thought I did rather well not resorting to shouting until now. I have been told on so many occasions how serious and life threatening my condition is, so I believe I have been rather patient. I am though sorry to the member of staff who took the brunt of my stormy and fuming wrath.
Secondly, not that important in the scheme of things, but who writes the letters? Standard or no standard surely there is a way to compose something a little more special, delicate maybe, hopefully we are not considered cattle by the creators so I don’t think it unreasonable to expect a few words that might instil a little confidence, since once under the knife you don’t know what one might find when you awake? Who knows I could awake wanting to adorn myself in a nice beige dress a pink wig and skip off home with Toby to make a real man of him…. By the way if you are reading this Toby have you cleared up that dreadful mess of yours?
Thirdly this rings loudly of an organisation that is being interfered with, maybe a little too much, by people with doubtful experience in the medical profession. I count myself as someone who has experience in this field if only from a patient’s point of view. Already, in the past I might add, undergoing numerous spinal operations; one of which was the wrong operation, no beige dresses then, just left with a spinal infection and disintegrating discs, but thankfully all fine now, that would it not be a good idea for the government to stop interfering too much and do they know, really understand the situation that engulfs our great NHS.
I digress a bit, at last my tumour has a date for its release and, because of all the time on my hands right now, I am planning many things. I hope I can keep it! I know this might sound a little gory but to have it in a jar on my dresser to look at during breakfast or to get it out for a poke during a party, might find its self being the guest of honour and amusement maybe; though it could be put forward to running the hospital and it might even be able write a wizard letter?