Thoughts of a carer

  (This was written before ‘Dancing Bloody Nurses’) *** For the fifth time in just over a month my partner, Viv, and I spent nearly an hour last Tuesday trying to arrange to chat with a GP. We had to subject ourselves to the dial, redial shenanigans at 8am, along with hundreds of others, and the local phone exchange was jammed - a daily event hereabouts. We persevered and got through after half an hour, before having to queue and wait, listen to recorded messages and be put on hold for another ten minutes or so. The reason for this was that Viv had had some hospital tests on Saturday, and, Tuesday being the first working day following that, we needed to chat to the GP to arrange next steps.  In any sensible healthcare system our family doctor would have called us anyway to discuss the results of hospital tests; in ‘our NHS’, you have to go through the 8am process of ritual humiliation first, then wait at home to be called. Soviet Russia was not the final bastion of obdurate ad...

  Much is said by our useless political leaders that we should be more productive. They tell us that the NHS is the ‘envy of the world’; either they are deluded or they are trying to manipulate us.  *** Around the beginning of March Viv started to experience pain and discomfort when swallowing. Initially she thought it might be a sore throat type virus; swallowing issues being a complication with one of the conditions that Viv has, I mentioned it to a support nurse at one of the hospitals supporting Viv, who suggested we should contact the GP. That would have involved the ritual of the 8am humiliation by telephone; we decided to put this off for a week or two to see if the problem went away. Viv saw a dentist in mid-March, to whom we mentioned the problem. She couldn’t see any problem, and also suggested contacting the GP. To engage with a GP these days involves careful management of one’s diary: you have put aside an hour or so to call starting at 8, then be available for the...

  My mum enjoyed her 90th birthday last December. She’s led what many would consider a good life; worked hard, saved a bit here and there, and brought up me and my sister. A few months ago it became apparent that she couldn’t manage any more in her shared-equity ‘retired person’s’  bungalow, and moved into a care home. My sister and I have Power of Attorney, and we’ve been helping her manage her affairs. The sale of her old bungalow back to the local council went through in February, so we looked around for ideas on what to do with the proceeds - a small six figure sum.  Mum had an ISA at her bank which had built up to a good five figure sum, but otherwise no savings accounts. This included National Savings, which surprised me, for I thought everyone had one or two Premium Bonds, but I didn’t worry: my thoughts were that we should use her ISA allowance every year, and buy her the maximum amount of Premium Bonds (£50K), where her interest, or prizes, would be tax free....

  I received a text the day before yesterday. ‘This is your NHS GP Surgery. Please log on to our website and submit a current blood pressure reading. If you do not have a blood pressure monitor please contact the surgery.’ Around five years ago I discussed my blood pressure with a GP: we agreed that I would monitor it at home, and, if it was significantly over 140/90 - say, in the 160s - I would get back to them, but otherwise I did not need to do anything about my blood pressure. All of a sudden, and without my agreement, the NHS is hassling me for blood pressure readings. WHY? Of course, receiving this text has had an effect on me, and my blood pressure is through the roof - 166 / 114 yesterday. There’s no better way of inducing stress in someone than a medical authority saying to them ‘excuse me, I think we need to keep more of an eye on you than we had previously agreed, and you MUST submit some information to us.’  *** Viv had a similar one yesterday. At the very bottom o...