Through the night in A&E: Rotherham Style

Currently, the government are doing their damnedest to reorganise the NHS taking away local powers and bring healthcare in the UK to its knees. They've already cut budgets over and over again for a decade so the NHS is not running at its best, rather limping on as best it can with its staff holding it up by their fingertips. Without local management of the NHS, it is likely that our government will use the new structure to bring in privatisation by the back door - Tory's friends' companies being drafted in to do things without the local insight to ensure a good fit. I dread to think.

The British Medical Association (BMA) has “overwhelmingly” voted to oppose the Health and Care Bill ahead of its third and final reading today. The group, which is the main group representing doctors in the UK, called on MPs to block the bill, warning it poses “significant risks” to the NHS.

OpenDemocracy.net 

As I was blue lit up to hospital to see what on earth was happening to me ( my complete short-circuiting if you remember my last post) I was constantly put at my ease even though I wouldn't lie down and insisted on sitting in a seat - panicking my little socks off quite frankly. The paramedics were so well trained and chatted endlessly to me taking ECGs and blood pressure regularly. One male, one female, both utterly brilliant as nerves got the better of me sending my worry into overdrive. They read the room and kept reassuring me. I couldn’t thank them enough and apologised for the drama in the middle of a pandemic. It’s the response they were hearing a lot from Rotherham folk at the time not wanting to add to the NHS burden.

I was wheeled in to A&E into the fast track section, meaning my need was more urgent so would see the triage nurse slightly quicker than the non-urgent cases. A couple of hours later, nothing. The place was so busy and there were many patients in my section. 

Life in A&E is just a sight to behold. And that night was no exception. I saw vulnerable people brought in, and regardless of illness, addiction or injury, despite the behaviour of some patients as they worsened through fear, pain or need, the staff in that building treated each person with the utmost respect and kindness. I watched such inspiring, compassionate workers sit with vulnerable people such as  a young man in crisis who a nurse addressed by name and quietly talked him down from a point of extreme distress; then a teenager with a footballing injury to the ankle shouting out in pain for help, being moved to a bay (which were very rarely free) with his mortified mother apologising for his outburst and being reassured that people in pain react very differently and sometimes out of character. This nurse switched from one to the other seamlessly as he moved them to a side bay. I saw a girl brought in after being injured at a party incredibly distressed and having taken substances unknown was out of it and noisy. A doctor walked swiftly through and sat down with her, calmly extracting some basic information about what she had taken and planning next steps. Elderly patients were regularly chatted to and gently encouraged them to contact family members who would need to come to the hospital. 

It was a delicate dance of kindness, experience, determination, teamwork and community while still giving care, love and respect to their patients. Yes of course there were moments of chaos as new cases were brought in but the way everything settled again was reassurring. 

When I was seen by my 12 year old doctor (just kidding - he was about 26) he was also incredibly patient and respectful. I'd already expected a more frazzled consultant but if he was, he hid it well. Because I was frightened and convinced I’d had a brain tumour or a stroke thanks to my appointment with Professor Google, I initially told him exactly what I thought had happened, me of course being the expert of me. By this point I’d had bloods taken, regular blood pressure and temp checks all the time sitting in a cushioned hospital wheelchair - you know the ones you stick to - and feeling exhausted with zero sense of humour. I’m not even sure I was fully awake even though my eyes were open so I can't recall my tone or delivery of this outpouring. The rest of me was numb. The doctor listened patiently and explained he was trained in neurology and found my case fascinating. (Do I now add 'fascinating medical condition' to my dating profile?!) I was impressed with his cool dismissal of my many Professor Google theories in a dry yet reassuring tone.

I was to stop Nefopam immediately. That and the Oramorph were reacting together. I would possibly experience nausea, anxiety, panic attacks, and continuing tremors which was going to be fine and would not cause lasting damage. I would notice them lessening but they were to continue for some time. A appointment with Neurology was booked for me in August.

This doctor really knew his stuff. Of course he did. He'd sent me for every test possible before he explained what was going on. He'd done this at 2.30am incidently. I find it difficult finding my glass of water at that time in the morning yet he'd sifted through god knows how many possibilities to find my best fit. I was having myoclonic seizures and that none of my results pointed to epilepsy or the onset of a stroke. The doctor explained how they can be a part of ME. I went home reassured. I too, had been talked down from quiet hysteria, soothed, educated further about my illness and treated with a no-nonsense kindness which we’ve all come to know of our A&E over the years. 

Our NHS is incredible. We must treasure it. Healthcare for all is essential to a civilised society. And while the government continue to threaten its very existence, privatising by stealth and distracting the public away from these essential discussions, fights, protests and petitions - all the while pushing for the UK's wants and needs to be overturned - I wonder how we’ll survive without our NHS? We all find ourselves vulnerable sometimes. We all get older and more frail if we're lucky to make it that far. Just food for thought.