If your aim is true.
But, who are we kidding? Hands up anybody who has experienced a doctor’s home visit in the past 20 or more years.
These days they are more likely to be found at home or on their frequent vacations (mobile to hand) deigning to make the odd phone call to you if you complain enough. Or even, heavens be praised, a one to one Zoom chat.
For one who actually pre-dates the NHS it has been instructive to watch its descent into the mess we “enjoy” today. Where, oh where is Matron?
Middle management without an ounce of medical knowledge or experience? Thousands of them. Like Zulus at Rorke’s Drift.
DIE appointments? You can’t move without tripping over one – all employed at vastly superior salaries to the real clinical staff.
It is a real shame that a concept, imagined and initiated post WWll for the benefit of the people – free at the point of delivery – should be practised in a manner flouting its founders’ intentions.
It worked well enough for some years and I have received 2 successful operations at its hands.
Sadly, even for the first one when I was 6 (tonsillectomy) the powers that be lied to me. I was promised ice cream but only got a watery custard.
Clearly that was a pointer to the future. it didn’t have to be like this.
Having had to join a new surgery after a move, I had high hopes after 43 years with my prior and still mostly professional surgery.
Soon dashed. Haven’t yet seen an actual doctor. They remain the stuff of legend.
Have spoken to a voice over the telephone who purported to be one but who knows? Not even a Zoom call. The surgery also possesses a remarkable skill in losing blood tests despite being located next door to a brand new hospital. Perhaps they throw them underhand?
And, of course, I am not alone. Feeling unwell, injured, fallen, chest pains, aged? No home visit for you. Ask and you’ll be told to ring 911 and request an ambulance to take you to A&E.
After waiting 7 or more hours for an ambulance to arrive and deposit you at A&E you wait amongst the downtrodden snifflers for another 5 hours before being taken for a triage that consists of waiting on an uncomfortable metal bed without blankets or water for a day or 3 before anybody arrives. An occasional comforting word from a passing nurse, in a language you don’t understand, doesn’t really cut it.
The envy of the world. Right.
If capable of actually diagnosing your problems correctly the junior doctor will call for a nurse to take you to a ward. That’s supposing there are any beds available.
If you have any slight symptoms of anything resembling Covid (aka flu) you will be DNR’d,without your approval or consent, then “treated” with increasing doses of Midazolam. No visitors or family permitted.
Death, it would appear, becomes you.
One less to treat and add to the statistics.
It is a sorry state of affairs when at your weakest and most fearful you are often likely to receive treatment that would shame the RSPCA. But there it is.
The only way to receive competent,
prompt and effective diagnosis and treatment it seems is to pay for it privately. Of course, not everybody can afford it.
Nevertheless, let us all dance, sing and bang pans for the NHS.
You know it makes sense.
Foootsoldier Says… 