Hospitals and Incompetency
Discussion
Thanks for the kind words chaps. Apologies for the lack of updates, been a bit hectic.
I'm still in hospital, although thankfully not Colchester General. I transferred Sunday to the Oaks, a Ramsey facility across the road. Disturbing lack of knowledge the CG end regarding the transfer, as I thought I'd make it easier for everyone and ask my wife to drop me off instead of someone having to arrange an ambulance. Oaks said they could admit me from 1600 (not an issue), however CG never gave me that time so I worked on the basis I'd leave about 1430, to clear the lunch rush to make CG staff life easier. Come 1400 I'm dressed, ready to go but still hooked up to morphine. An hour later and someone finds the 2'47" required (I'm sad, I timed it lol) to disconnect me. I get a ton of paperwork, assume it's all there and go.
What surprised me was the reaction of both staff and more so patients to finding out I was going private. Staff became abrupt and dismissive of my needs, and my fellow patients, who I'd built a good rapport with by having chats and buying papers for during scans etc, suddenly stopped talking to me once I'd made the phonecall (in the ward, nowhere private to go) to the insurer confirming I was going private. It's like there's this massive stigma against private care, despite the fact I'm freeing an NHS bed and resources up for someone else. It was like I'd just p*ssed in their slippers. Why? I said goodbye to everyone as I left, wishing them all to get better soon, got one muffled response back from the guy opposite who also had gallstones funnily enough.
Is it not socially acceptable to have private cover? I don't know. My missus heard Other Gallstone Man's wife whispering to him as we left "Where's he going? You were here first! What, he's going private? We can do that! Who do I speak to? Nope, I want that too, how much is it?"
Anyway, no surprises treatment much better here, not just in obvious terms of facilities but staff are friendly, polite, acknowledgeable, just nice. They're still flat out, looks like staff numbers have been reduced and this week they've just started a new rota system, but a smile goes a long way.
Still in pain, still hooked up to auto morphine, still no idea on going home, but the surgeon is here talking to me daily and I know this is part of the process. It's okay, the body can only heal itself so quick
I'm still in hospital, although thankfully not Colchester General. I transferred Sunday to the Oaks, a Ramsey facility across the road. Disturbing lack of knowledge the CG end regarding the transfer, as I thought I'd make it easier for everyone and ask my wife to drop me off instead of someone having to arrange an ambulance. Oaks said they could admit me from 1600 (not an issue), however CG never gave me that time so I worked on the basis I'd leave about 1430, to clear the lunch rush to make CG staff life easier. Come 1400 I'm dressed, ready to go but still hooked up to morphine. An hour later and someone finds the 2'47" required (I'm sad, I timed it lol) to disconnect me. I get a ton of paperwork, assume it's all there and go.
What surprised me was the reaction of both staff and more so patients to finding out I was going private. Staff became abrupt and dismissive of my needs, and my fellow patients, who I'd built a good rapport with by having chats and buying papers for during scans etc, suddenly stopped talking to me once I'd made the phonecall (in the ward, nowhere private to go) to the insurer confirming I was going private. It's like there's this massive stigma against private care, despite the fact I'm freeing an NHS bed and resources up for someone else. It was like I'd just p*ssed in their slippers. Why? I said goodbye to everyone as I left, wishing them all to get better soon, got one muffled response back from the guy opposite who also had gallstones funnily enough.
Is it not socially acceptable to have private cover? I don't know. My missus heard Other Gallstone Man's wife whispering to him as we left "Where's he going? You were here first! What, he's going private? We can do that! Who do I speak to? Nope, I want that too, how much is it?"
Anyway, no surprises treatment much better here, not just in obvious terms of facilities but staff are friendly, polite, acknowledgeable, just nice. They're still flat out, looks like staff numbers have been reduced and this week they've just started a new rota system, but a smile goes a long way.
Still in pain, still hooked up to auto morphine, still no idea on going home, but the surgeon is here talking to me daily and I know this is part of the process. It's okay, the body can only heal itself so quick
Also, funny/awkward story from my last day at CG...
All of us on the ward minding our own business (this is pre-moving notification), the odd chat here and there or someone having a dressing changed. The old guy who was right in the corner, been practically unconscious for two days and he's on my side so I can't even see him to chat with normally, suddenly gets up and grabs his walking frame, and starts heading out the ward. Clearly in discomfort, I gave the roughly 70 year-old a simple cordial head nod as he gets level with my bed to acknowledge him, when a nurse comes over to him. Right in front of bed, remember that.
"Mr Smith, are you okay? What are you doing out of bed? Where are you going?"
"I've had an accident, need to get to the bathroom..." he whimpers.
Oh poor guy, he's wet himself and tried to get away without telling anyone. Bad enough at any age, when you're old it must be mortifying. Poor chap, I think.
"Go sit back down, I'll have someone come over to help you change, don't worry", says the nurse. "Wait what's that I'll over your hands...?"
I look. Then the smell hits me, like a tidal wave of badness, burning my retinas.
"It wasn't a wee", the poor old guy moans. He's proper pooed himself, but not diarrhoea, then shoved his hands in his jammies to push it back in until he makes the toilet. Suddenly, in a spot of perfect comic timing, as he finishes his sentence and my brain clocks what has happened, he shakes a trouser leg and a muffin-sized lump of poo shuts drops its way to the floor, rolls slightly, then stops. Oh sh*t.
What happens next is excruciating. The nurse sees this, she can't leave this nugget on the floor so dives to the counter to grab some cloth. The old guy is there alone. He's at the end of my bed. I've seen everything. Dear god, please no... ARGH WE'VE MADE EYE CONTACT! Now what do I do, ignore it? Carry on reading my kindle? Oh man, I'm not that kind of person, I can't: This old guy is absolutely mortified, he's never done this in his life, he needs support. Come on Dan, take one for the team.
"Oh don't worry about it, it's nothing my friend. It happens to the best of us, can't be helped [where's that bloody nurse??]. Nothing to ever be ashamed of, sometimes it just happens when we're ill [argh still no nurse, gonna have to do it...], let me tell you about the time it happened to me when I was laying in bed next to the wife"
Literally the only way my brain could try and make this old chap know I can genuinely empathise with his predicament is now to tell the story to a bunch of strangers about how I too once sh*t the bed, and had to tell the wife NOT TO MOVE AT ALL whilst I got up to fetch some clean sheets after a night on the beer. I don't mind telling strangers on the internet, but telling strangers in real life is a little uncomfortable. Still, it seemed to genuinely relax the guy, then the nurse came back and took over. Which was good, as I was running out of poo stories.
Why did he have to pause right in front of my bed, then shake a leg and roll a gentle lil' lump across the hallway? I hate hospitals
All of us on the ward minding our own business (this is pre-moving notification), the odd chat here and there or someone having a dressing changed. The old guy who was right in the corner, been practically unconscious for two days and he's on my side so I can't even see him to chat with normally, suddenly gets up and grabs his walking frame, and starts heading out the ward. Clearly in discomfort, I gave the roughly 70 year-old a simple cordial head nod as he gets level with my bed to acknowledge him, when a nurse comes over to him. Right in front of bed, remember that.
"Mr Smith, are you okay? What are you doing out of bed? Where are you going?"
"I've had an accident, need to get to the bathroom..." he whimpers.
Oh poor guy, he's wet himself and tried to get away without telling anyone. Bad enough at any age, when you're old it must be mortifying. Poor chap, I think.
"Go sit back down, I'll have someone come over to help you change, don't worry", says the nurse. "Wait what's that I'll over your hands...?"
I look. Then the smell hits me, like a tidal wave of badness, burning my retinas.
"It wasn't a wee", the poor old guy moans. He's proper pooed himself, but not diarrhoea, then shoved his hands in his jammies to push it back in until he makes the toilet. Suddenly, in a spot of perfect comic timing, as he finishes his sentence and my brain clocks what has happened, he shakes a trouser leg and a muffin-sized lump of poo shuts drops its way to the floor, rolls slightly, then stops. Oh sh*t.
What happens next is excruciating. The nurse sees this, she can't leave this nugget on the floor so dives to the counter to grab some cloth. The old guy is there alone. He's at the end of my bed. I've seen everything. Dear god, please no... ARGH WE'VE MADE EYE CONTACT! Now what do I do, ignore it? Carry on reading my kindle? Oh man, I'm not that kind of person, I can't: This old guy is absolutely mortified, he's never done this in his life, he needs support. Come on Dan, take one for the team.
"Oh don't worry about it, it's nothing my friend. It happens to the best of us, can't be helped [where's that bloody nurse??]. Nothing to ever be ashamed of, sometimes it just happens when we're ill [argh still no nurse, gonna have to do it...], let me tell you about the time it happened to me when I was laying in bed next to the wife"
Literally the only way my brain could try and make this old chap know I can genuinely empathise with his predicament is now to tell the story to a bunch of strangers about how I too once sh*t the bed, and had to tell the wife NOT TO MOVE AT ALL whilst I got up to fetch some clean sheets after a night on the beer. I don't mind telling strangers on the internet, but telling strangers in real life is a little uncomfortable. Still, it seemed to genuinely relax the guy, then the nurse came back and took over. Which was good, as I was running out of poo stories.
Why did he have to pause right in front of my bed, then shake a leg and roll a gentle lil' lump across the hallway? I hate hospitals
Ekona said:
Also, funny/awkward story from my last day at CG...
All of us on the ward minding our own business (this is pre-moving notification), the odd chat here and there or someone having a dressing changed. The old guy who was right in the corner, been practically unconscious for two days and he's on my side so I can't even see him to chat with normally, suddenly gets up and grabs his walking frame, and starts heading out the ward. Clearly in discomfort, I gave the roughly 70 year-old a simple cordial head nod as he gets level with my bed to acknowledge him, when a nurse comes over to him. Right in front of bed, remember that.
"Mr Smith, are you okay? What are you doing out of bed? Where are you going?"
"I've had an accident, need to get to the bathroom..." he whimpers.
Oh poor guy, he's wet himself and tried to get away without telling anyone. Bad enough at any age, when you're old it must be mortifying. Poor chap, I think.
"Go sit back down, I'll have someone come over to help you change, don't worry", says the nurse. "Wait what's that I'll over your hands...?"
I look. Then the smell hits me, like a tidal wave of badness, burning my retinas.
"It wasn't a wee", the poor old guy moans. He's proper pooed himself, but not diarrhoea, then shoved his hands in his jammies to push it back in until he makes the toilet. Suddenly, in a spot of perfect comic timing, as he finishes his sentence and my brain clocks what has happened, he shakes a trouser leg and a muffin-sized lump of poo shuts drops its way to the floor, rolls slightly, then stops. Oh sh*t.
What happens next is excruciating. The nurse sees this, she can't leave this nugget on the floor so dives to the counter to grab some cloth. The old guy is there alone. He's at the end of my bed. I've seen everything. Dear god, please no... ARGH WE'VE MADE EYE CONTACT! Now what do I do, ignore it? Carry on reading my kindle? Oh man, I'm not that kind of person, I can't: This old guy is absolutely mortified, he's never done this in his life, he needs support. Come on Dan, take one for the team.
"Oh don't worry about it, it's nothing my friend. It happens to the best of us, can't be helped [where's that bloody nurse??]. Nothing to ever be ashamed of, sometimes it just happens when we're ill [argh still no nurse, gonna have to do it...], let me tell you about the time it happened to me when I was laying in bed next to the wife"
Literally the only way my brain could try and make this old chap know I can genuinely empathise with his predicament is now to tell the story to a bunch of strangers about how I too once sh*t the bed, and had to tell the wife NOT TO MOVE AT ALL whilst I got up to fetch some clean sheets after a night on the beer. I don't mind telling strangers on the internet, but telling strangers in real life is a little uncomfortable. Still, it seemed to genuinely relax the guy, then the nurse came back and took over. Which was good, as I was running out of poo stories.
Why did he have to pause right in front of my bed, then shake a leg and roll a gentle lil' lump across the hallway? I hate hospitals
As we established earlier in the thread, I actually know you and your wife, I will forever feel sorry for your misses. You need to ask niki about the sky box and the fridge. I'm sure that will cheer you up no end. All of us on the ward minding our own business (this is pre-moving notification), the odd chat here and there or someone having a dressing changed. The old guy who was right in the corner, been practically unconscious for two days and he's on my side so I can't even see him to chat with normally, suddenly gets up and grabs his walking frame, and starts heading out the ward. Clearly in discomfort, I gave the roughly 70 year-old a simple cordial head nod as he gets level with my bed to acknowledge him, when a nurse comes over to him. Right in front of bed, remember that.
"Mr Smith, are you okay? What are you doing out of bed? Where are you going?"
"I've had an accident, need to get to the bathroom..." he whimpers.
Oh poor guy, he's wet himself and tried to get away without telling anyone. Bad enough at any age, when you're old it must be mortifying. Poor chap, I think.
"Go sit back down, I'll have someone come over to help you change, don't worry", says the nurse. "Wait what's that I'll over your hands...?"
I look. Then the smell hits me, like a tidal wave of badness, burning my retinas.
"It wasn't a wee", the poor old guy moans. He's proper pooed himself, but not diarrhoea, then shoved his hands in his jammies to push it back in until he makes the toilet. Suddenly, in a spot of perfect comic timing, as he finishes his sentence and my brain clocks what has happened, he shakes a trouser leg and a muffin-sized lump of poo shuts drops its way to the floor, rolls slightly, then stops. Oh sh*t.
What happens next is excruciating. The nurse sees this, she can't leave this nugget on the floor so dives to the counter to grab some cloth. The old guy is there alone. He's at the end of my bed. I've seen everything. Dear god, please no... ARGH WE'VE MADE EYE CONTACT! Now what do I do, ignore it? Carry on reading my kindle? Oh man, I'm not that kind of person, I can't: This old guy is absolutely mortified, he's never done this in his life, he needs support. Come on Dan, take one for the team.
"Oh don't worry about it, it's nothing my friend. It happens to the best of us, can't be helped [where's that bloody nurse??]. Nothing to ever be ashamed of, sometimes it just happens when we're ill [argh still no nurse, gonna have to do it...], let me tell you about the time it happened to me when I was laying in bed next to the wife"
Literally the only way my brain could try and make this old chap know I can genuinely empathise with his predicament is now to tell the story to a bunch of strangers about how I too once sh*t the bed, and had to tell the wife NOT TO MOVE AT ALL whilst I got up to fetch some clean sheets after a night on the beer. I don't mind telling strangers on the internet, but telling strangers in real life is a little uncomfortable. Still, it seemed to genuinely relax the guy, then the nurse came back and took over. Which was good, as I was running out of poo stories.
Why did he have to pause right in front of my bed, then shake a leg and roll a gentle lil' lump across the hallway? I hate hospitals
Anyway glad your getting better care and hopefully catch-up later in the year.
fatboy b said:
Shocking reading, but I hope you're not having surgery in the private hopsital. OK for relatively minor stuff, but I'd want to be in the NHS if they're opening up my torso.
Nothing wrong with The Oaks. Friend had major cancer surgery there a few years back and my sister had facial surgery there last year.rscott said:
fatboy b said:
Shocking reading, but I hope you're not having surgery in the private hopsital. OK for relatively minor stuff, but I'd want to be in the NHS if they're opening up my torso.
Nothing wrong with The Oaks. Friend had major cancer surgery there a few years back and my sister had facial surgery there last year.I feel for you op. You did the right thing getting out of Colchester General into the Oaks, I also live in Halstead area so know both. The Oaks is OK.
Somewhat off topic Mrs BC got an NHS appointment at the hospital. She was unable to make the date the told her so phoned to re arrange, there was an ansaphone so she left a message. After a couple of days there was no response so she left another message saying she could not make that appointment. Then we get a letter from our GP saying she didn't turn up for her arranged hospital appointment.
Makes you wonder about the truth when the NHS moans about missed appointments.
Somewhat off topic Mrs BC got an NHS appointment at the hospital. She was unable to make the date the told her so phoned to re arrange, there was an ansaphone so she left a message. After a couple of days there was no response so she left another message saying she could not make that appointment. Then we get a letter from our GP saying she didn't turn up for her arranged hospital appointment.
Makes you wonder about the truth when the NHS moans about missed appointments.
bad company said:
Makes you wonder about the truth when the NHS moans about missed appointments.
From my experience it's because there isn't enough money to pay enough admin staff to follow up answerphone messages. When money needs to be cut, admin staff are the first to go - and the general public support it.I recently spent some time in A & E and had a follow up repair in day surgery. I can't fault the service I had.
My Dad was pretty ill a couple of years ago, individuals looked after him superbly, however the inefficiencies within the system caused massive delays (and cost), such as waiting in a General Ward for three days as no-one could refer him to the cardiac ward even though it was known what the issue was. When he was transferred he was fixed and home in 24 hours.
My Dad was pretty ill a couple of years ago, individuals looked after him superbly, however the inefficiencies within the system caused massive delays (and cost), such as waiting in a General Ward for three days as no-one could refer him to the cardiac ward even though it was known what the issue was. When he was transferred he was fixed and home in 24 hours.
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