So, last night I had a portion of my Mum's apple crumble brought back from my visit to her house in Kent over the weekend. This hasn't really got a whole lot to do with this blog but I thought I'd mention it anyway, as an a aside, and there is a faint link to the matter in hand, my bottom and the medical profession.
I sat on a thorn in Africa about ten years ago and over the years the wound has got worse and worse until in the end there was nothing else to do but go the doctor. I don't like doctors very much. In my experience in the UK they tend to be either dismissive, or rude, or sometimes both. I won't go into why this may or may not be, but needless to say it takes a lot for me to go and see a doctor.
So, off I went back in March 2013 to my doctor's surgery to see what they had to say. At this point I will jump right past all the events that have occurred since that time, to today, mainly because I should have started this blog a long time ago so that all the info contained in it would be contemporaneous with events. To write them up now would be to rely on memory, which in time i may well do anyway, but for now all we need to know is that a couple of weeks ago I finally had surgery on the offending wound and have been having it dressed everyday since by various nurses between doctor's surgeries and hospitals.
Today I went in to the surgery to get the wound dressed again and to be honest I've had enough of being given conflicting information about the wound and the prognoses, so I informed the nurse that I was unhappy with the standard of care I have been receiving, and that the whole area is far worse now than it was before the surgery and subsequent 'care'. I then pointed out that last Wednesday I had been told by a nurse that I may not need it dressed every day, but perhaps every other day.
The following day, a Thursday, the same nurse said to me that upon inspection of the wound it would need dressing every day, including over the weekend while away at my Mum's. Fine I said. As I was exiting the room two other nurses in an adjoining room sparked up conversation about the care and treatment of the wound, and one of them said to me that perhaps I could change the dressings myself now to save going to the hospital over the weekend to get it done. She then said I could remove the packing from the wound, wash it under and tap and put it back. Fine i said, although as it is on my buttock I would find it hard to reach. She thought about it for a second and then said yes under the circumstances it was better to go to the hospital. Fine I said and left.
So today I find myself back at the surgery complaining about the standard of care and mention this conversation to the nurse who was dressing it today. Excuse me she said, and left the room to return with the nurse from Wednesday and Thursday. Please explain your concerns she says, so off I go. I get to the part about washing the packing under the tap and she goes off the rails saying this never happened and how dare I and get out.
So an argument ensued and the two nurses closed ranks and pulled the patient being abusive card which I utterly refute. This all happened at 9.30am and I had to return at 11.50am for a doctors appointment to try and get to the bottom (excuse the pun) of what was going on with my bottom. The practice manager took me into a room and basically tried to flim flam me with arse covering rubbish (another unintended pun) and denying all responsibility while saying it was all my fault. She wouldn't let me explain, kept talking over me, then proceeded to accuse me of talking over her. I know the form, I've been here many times before, in fact you could say I have made a career out of conflicting with bureaucratic automatons.
When I returned at 11.50 the doctor informed me she would treat me even though the practice manager had recommended removing me from the practice list. After 20 years as a photojournalist I am bored of these robots who never listen and only push their own agendas which seem to mainly be about covering things up and never ever admitting responsibility in case they get sued. I don't want to sue or complain, I just want to get this problem with my bottom fixed and move on, but for now I am being referred back to the consultant as surprise, surprise, when she finally had to confront my bottom, despite her best efforts to not have to see it, the doctor finally admitted there was something quite seriously wrong.
And this blog isn't about laying blame or pointing fingers, but rather a diary of the events related to trying to get the simplest thing done with the medical profession. I just wish I had catalogued all the idiocies and cock ups there have been since this all started back in March 2013. All I can think is the NHS has had it for one reason or another, either because of those within it or the pressures of those without it, but ultimately it seems to be in total chaos with neither left hand nor right really having the foggiest idea what it is doing. So I pretty well wish I had never set foot in that doctors' surgery in March, but hey ho once they get their hooks into you there is only one way to go to get the barbs out, keep going forwards.
