...And Then the Stupid GP Proved Me Right (Again)

Following on from my previous rant laden post regards the NHS and their attitude towards woman, I wanted to update you on the latest farce. It seems it's not just woman but anyone who fancies asking the NHS to actually do anything, at all.

About 12 weeks ago, I asked for Littlest to be re-referred to his lovely Consultant. He hasn't seen him for about 2 years, and we were hoping we wouldn't need to see him again as we would have assumed that the District Asthma Clinic could be sufficient.

Why, why on earth, going on previous experience, did I think that? I actually could kick myself.

The thing is, Littlest has the same inhalers he has always had. They simply do not do the same thing as they used to do. His Blue, Ventolin Inhaler is supposed to work to put a halt to the times when he finds it hard to brave without coughing. Despite giving him up to ten puffs at once (which is supposed to act like being on a nebuliser when used with his spacer device), it does absolutely nothing to relieve it at all.

As for the Brown Preventer, well, we may as well not bother with it for all the use it is- think making a brew with a chocolate tea pot.

We have begged and pleaded with his GPs, and the frankly slappable Asthma Nurse (who bad mouthed me for using the correct spacer as given to us by his Consultant and backed up by the GP) to do something, anything, to try and limit the effect his illness has. He is having more and more time off school, which means we had the bloody Welfare Education Officer trying to interfere (she got told where to go until she can suggest a cure for his illness- that soon shut her up).

It also means that Littlest's behaviour is getting beyond a joke. He runs at me on occasion, fists raised, and he gets so angry. Which in turn then makes him get out of breath and cough lots. Its the lack of sleep that causes a lot of it, the same as I am constantly knackered and could happily nod off by 7pm every night as I'm just so sleepy.

The thing is, we know of other families attached to the same GP, who have children of similar age with the condition, and they are forever trying different meds on them. Littlest, meanwhile, just doesn't exist.

Now, because the Cretinous GP and his shoddy and brain dead Secretary know they have messed up, by asking the Consultant to see Littlest about his allergies, rather than his cough, they are now trying to skirt round the fact it is there fault this mess has occurred and are trying to pass the blame to me.

How on earth they can blame me for their immense cock up is anyone's guess. As you'll remember, if you read the previous post, firstly I was told I hadn't been clear enough on what I wanted him to be seen for (so telling the GP I wanted him to be seen as his inhalers don't work any more and I want him, for the first time ever since SCBU, to be monitored overnight is clearly not plain English enough for him).

When that didn't work, they lied and told him I was very unhappy with his original help (bollocks) and I wanted a second opinion.

Which, correct me if I'm wrong, but a second opinion from the same person who voiced the original opinion clearly does not work. And why on earth would I want to go back to someone that I didn't have faith in to the point I would want a second opinion? It just doesn't make sense.

So now, as the previously OK Consultant is now sulking (like a bitch) thinking we have been all mean about him (diddums), he wont see Littlest.

Great stuff. God knows where we turn to next. 

Which leads me onto epic cock up number 2 from the same surgery.

In the same post I mentioned how I felt the female GP I had hoped would show some female solidarity was an utter cow and had, in my opinion, ignored me, but that I awaited to see how much she had ignored me when my referral for a Gynaecological investigation came through.

It came through today.

Is it for the female Gynaecologist who I mentioned I wanted to see, for the simple, non-sexist reason that, frankly, my Lady Garden is my own and it's quite up to me who I give an audience to?

No, is it buggery.

It's for the same bloody pissing male one who I asked, begged and pleaded not to see last time, then twiddled my thumbs waiting for a new appointment to switch to his female peer, gave up and went to the bitch of woman GP to ask her to resend my referral. 

I hate to be proved right, I really do. Why have I wasted the last week odd waiting patiently to see who the referral was to? I knew, I just flaming knew before I left that office, shaking and upset, that she had ignored me. That she had some bloody issue with me, you know, how dare I, wanting to use what is my right as a patient to voice that I wanted to see a fellow woman rather than a man. 

So, now it all starts again. I have to phone up the hospital and cancel, and hope they don't forget why I've cancelled (or forget I've cancelled at all) and yet again send some snotty letter to my GP. I then have to wait for an appointment with another GP at the surgery. I wont be allowed an Emergency appointment, as the Gates of Hell otherwise known as the desk Secretaries wont allow me to (they ask what you want, and before you tell me you don't need to tell them, the last time I refused, telling them it was naff all of their business, they made me take an appointment for three weeks later), so I will need to wait at least a week and half, if not two, for a standard appointment. I will then have to wait two weeks (if not more- after all, we're at the 9 week mark for Littlest's referral with no conclusion or appointment in sight) for the letter for an appointment, and then over a month (at least) for an actual appointment, if anyone actually listens and books it with a bloody woman.

This, this is why the NHS is in crisis.

Why in Christ's name they cannot get their heads around simple admin is beyond me? Its to the point where I am close to requesting to write my own bloody referrals, getting them stamped by the GP and then handing them in at the required hospital, getting an acknowledgement of receipt while I'm there. 

If they actually did it the first time, rather than having to go back and forth, sending out new referrals for the same thing at least 3 times before you get anywhere, they'd save a bundle.

I can't be the only one wondering why I bother even seeing a GP, when I know, full well, from years of experience that they do naff all however much you beg and plead.

Comment: Hospital Food Sucks!

I am writing this post after watching the Dispatches programme on Channel 4 last night (at last, a fair and well researched programme from them!) about Hospital food.

After spending 10 weeks in Traction, reporter Mark Sparrow started a Food blog, chronicling the awful fayre served up by his NHS hospital. However, he did say he managed to have a few great meals, such as salmon with new potatoes. He was lucky!

 

Now, I can completely sympathise with Mark, and agree wholeheartedly that food in NHS hospitals is appalling beyond belief, food so bad you wouldn't feed your dog, let alone your worst enemy it. I experienced this first hand in 2008.

Due to my waters breaking at 27 weeks when pregnant with Littlest, I was forced to stay at my local ante natal care ward for a week, followed by 5 days on the Maternity ward. I then spent 4 days on SCBU just before Littlest came home 3 and a half months on from having him.

My first introduction to hospital food was dinner, and I was told it was really important to keep eating and eat well, for Littlest's sake. Off I went to the little side room to get something from the large trolley, queueing up with the other women.

What I saw was six large silver catering dishes, filled with violently coloured slop. Yes, that's the only word I can use- slop. I asked the Nurse who was over seeing the food (and making sure we all ate something) what was available, and was told it was Ethnic choice food, and the slop was in fact different forms of lentil curry. So I asked where the non-ethnic choice was, and was pointed to some half mashed half whole boiled potatoes, grey in colour and hardly edible looking (I couldn't stomach the idea of tasting to find out if they tasted as bad as they looked). That was it, potato, nothing with it. She then told me I must eat something, so I took a sandwich, and an apple.

The sandwich, on reflection, seemed like a great idea, yet the next day I realised that these were brought up to the ward at 12pm, and then left out all day, on the side- not refrigerated at all. So when I picked one up at 6pm, it had sat for 6 hours sweating in its plastic tray. No wonder it was stale and curly at the edges.

That meant sandwiches were off the menu after that as a dinner option.

We could, however help ourselves to coffee and tea, but were expected to put some coins in the jar. We also had water jugs, but again, these were left out all day and very rarely refreshed, and when I asked a few times for a re-fill, I would find myself snarled at by the less than friendly staff. Whilst I was sympathetic of them being understaffed, it was August, it was hot and the room was unventilated with no air conditioning.

All week, all that was available was the same "ethnic option". There were quite a few ethnic groups on the ward, however, I spoke to a number of differently raced women whilst there- it passed the time if nothing else, and everyone moaned about the food. Regardless of what we all ate at home, those brave enough to try the lentil concoctions did so once and regretted it after. 

Halfway through my stay, I went to the room, pondering whether to have a pear instead of an apple, and there was excitement from the queue as there was fish for dinner.

Well, yes and no. It was served up as fish in white sauce. What I got was a plate of runny yet lumpy white sauce which had the hint of the sea about it in that it was salty beyond belief (I'm not going to say what I thought it reminded me of as I'm too ladylike. It was white, salty and fishy, you work it out). It had burnt onion in it. 

Fish, however was lacking. Apparently, if I'd been in the first, not the third ward of 4 beds called for dinner, I'd have got some fish. By the time I got there and was served by the bored nurse, there was none left. 

So a plate of white salty slop, with burnt onions, and those ubiquitous grey lumps of mash and spud mixture.

Over the week in ante-natal care, I felt tired and ratty, I was always hungry. I have a good appetite and a good cook at home, I'm used to eating nicely sized, nice tasting food. Its not even posh what we eat, and not expensive, just good, old fashioned grub like Shepherds Pies and stews.

Luckily for me, one of the breakfast trolley ladies on my last day on the ward before I went into labour in the evening asked me whether I'd like toast or cereal for breakfast (the only time we had a choice was between the two at breakfast, and which we were woken up for at 7am), and I asked if I could have both!

She was so lovely, not one of the midwifery staff but an auxiliary, and she gave me three bits of all be it cold toast, and a generous helping of cornflakes- probably the only time when cold toast has tasted so good!

Typically, the one night when a possibly edible meal of fish and chips was served and I was in labour- I could see the food, yet despite calling for help I couldn't move as when I stood up even slightly I felt like my legs didn't work and felt lightheaded too. It took for one of the woman on my ward to go and shout at the desk staff before they came and attended to me- even though I had been telling them since 2pm and it was now 6pm.

Anyhow, back to the food.

After Littlest was born, I was then in the Maternity ward, and hoped the food would improve.

Some hope! 

On the Sunday, I thought I might be able to eat my first proper meal since the week before at home, as we were told it was Roast lunch day- a possibility of which caused me such happiness I could almost have salivated.

Sadly, the promised roast was worse even than the curly sandwich- beef which was 95% gristle and 5% mush, in a small round shape. I suspect it was very cheap sandwich beef, which would account for the shape and the gristle. 1 small spud, not roasted (not even the plague of Aunt Bessie fakery either), it was cold and grey. The gravy was thin and greasy- how they managed that I'll always wonder. Plus a carrot. Not a whole carrot, a slice of. Great.

Luckily, one of my co-patients Mums very sneakily brought in a massive bucket of KFC, although she had to hide it. On one occasion she had brought in "outside food" and had it taken off her and chucked away. We all had to do a Mission Impossible movement round the ward to her curtained bed, keeping an eye out for the staff. My God it was worth it though! Yum!

All in all the food over that close to two week period was so rotten, I lost a stone, and was close to back to my pre-pregnant weight, not bad after a c-section and all the swelling that causes.

Then, when I had to go in to learn how to care for a sick Littlest at home, and manage his oxygen intake, I thought I'd be given a meal. Wrong. 

We were told we had to go to the canteen and buy our food ourselves. That wasn't cheap.

When you factor in the £6 for 24 hours TV, 75p a minute calls, and then close to £20 a day for food, it all adds up.

What has always baffled me was that the canteen food, although quite expensive, was gorgeous, with huge servings available of food ethnic and otherwise, loads of choice and steaming hot. 

So, why was the patients food so awful across the board?

Seriously, I am that confident that the food was so inedible that I think WP hospital should close as a proper hospital and open as a fat camp. Serve the morbidly obese types you see on programmes like The Biggest Loser the food there, they'd lose weight in weeks refusing to eat the stuff they tried to force on me.

I even looked up WP on Netmums- whilst overall the staff get the thumbs up, the food is overwhelmingly slated. Even by Ethnic ladies!

The lack of food choice was introduced when the people behind the food had to factor in that Slough and the surrounding area is a culturally diverse place- hence the chick peas and lentils. 

However, one Asian lady, who spoke very poor English, managed to agree with the rest of us patients, by complaining that even in her country, they offer more choice, and that even at home she would eat the lentil option with a meat or fish dish, and certainly not with grey spuds or congealed rice! And a Polish patient who said she wouldn't expect us all to eat the kinds of food Polish people eat (there are a vast number of Polish immigrants in Berkshire) and despite there being just as many Polish patients they weren't catered for either. But she didn't expect them to be, as it was an English hospital, so surely the food should reflect that too?

Could it be that the food served up, not only satisfied the ethnic lobby who demand, quite rightly, that minority groups be catered for, but also because it was cheap. That's probably, in my view, more the case.If there was such a concern not to insult these minority groups, then why not serve Halal meat, at least that would have been a more edible option than lentil curry, and would have satisfied the cultural needs of a rich and diverse area.

Why also, on the scarce nights when food like the fish in sauce was available did it not stretch to all the women on the ward? Eight beds in and the fish was gone, surely the catering team know how many women are on one ward?

Tonight, local chef and Bray Botherer Heston Blumenthal, is on a mission to create better food at Alder Hey Children's Hospital.

However, without doubt once those TV cameras disappear, the food will return to its usual poor, cheap, and nasty status quo.

Its time that food, which is vital to help us keep our strength up (and get us out the hospital quicker) is overhauled.

I can't see that happening anytime soon.

If you haven't discovered Mark's Blog, Notes From a Hospital Bed  yet, it's well worth adding to your reader.