To good health?

The promises of Slaintecare may signal another tombstone to the unknown politician, writes Maurice Gueret, who is postponing his diet for the moment

Bar-room health

We are now in the age of Slaintecare. The name conjures up an image of a kindly publican wrapping a bandage around the head of a tipsy customer who has fallen off his bar stool. I didn’t go for the top job. Applications closed at the end of January for head honcho of the latest political wheeze to ‘transform’ health services in Ireland. My feeling is that healthcare breakthroughs are rarely achieved by committees. The Slaintecare one comprised 14 Oireachtas members, 13 without any Cabinet experience. They produced an ideologue’s plan. Instead of bringing patients together with universal health insurance, Slaintecare seeks to reinforce division by eliminating all private patients (and the fees of health insurers) from public hospitals. Where is this money supposed to be made up from?

Nothing doing

GP care is to be free for everyone. Next week, or the week after that, or whenever you can get an appointment. Slaintecare is a plan that may have worked wonders in Ireland of the 1940s or 1950s. But it fails to take account of where we are now. It requires 1,000 new GPs on top of the 1,000 who are due to retire in the next few years. Where are they? Well, I’ll tell you. They don’t exist. And where will we get thousands of Utopian nurses? In the UK, there are 34,000 nursing posts lying vacant as I write. In one region near London, local hospitals advertised 1,950 nursing vacancies last year. They filled five of them. My interest is not a vested one. It’s that of a long-time observer who has seen how politicians of all hues get it wrong time after time. In medicine, there are times when the patient benefits more by doctors doing nothing. Politicians are rarely taught that lesson.

Mushatt’s cure

I suspect my Christmas stocking, now a distant memory, wasn’t the only one in the country to have The 50 Francis Street Photographer, pictured right, hidden under the fancy socks. It’s a delightfully produced photo book and story by Suzanne Behan, granddaughter of John Walsh, a photographer who snapped families and events in Dublin’s Liberties for half of the last century. There are lovely anecdotes about one of Dublin’s most famous chemist shops — Mushatt’s Apothecary on Francis Street. Louis Mushatt and his brother, Harry, dispensed everything from tinctures of iodine to camphorated oil from the 1920s until the 1960s. Their 44 cures were made up on the premises from a book with all the formulas, and were the stuff of legend. Some of their skincare remedies are still available today in Thomas Street Pharmacy. The Mushatt brothers were held in great affection by locals, though were not regarded as infallible. In her book, Suzanne Behan tells the story of Granny Suey, whose shop Louis Mushatt would pass each day on his way to work. Granny would say, “There goes oul’ Mushatt, with his bandy feet and bald as a coot, selling corn cream and hair restorer”.

5:2, anyone?

I’m not a fan of new-year health fads or resolutions. There are enough puddings in the fridge and biscuits in the barrel to keep me going until March’s evening stretch before I take notice of any bulk that needs shifting. A reader has been in touch about the 5:2 diet, and I wonder if it may be the one for me. Her husband went to see a cardiologist who told him his heart was fine, but his belly was a disgrace. Nice turn of phrase, that. Might use it myself some day. Anyhow, he is on the doctor’s 5:2 diet, and he has almost a stone off after six months, the first weight loss he has managed in 20 years. The theory is that humans shouldn’t really be eating big feeds every day, and that there should be two days fasting (eating fewer than 500 calories on those days) every week — hence the 5:2 name. The diet has been championed by British TV doctor Michael Mosley who, like myself, is keen on the idea of eating what you like, but not so much of it. My correspondent says it’s an ideal diet for a married couple to go on together. Because the type of food you eat is not really restricted, there is always tomorrow to look forward to.

Ouch!

Congratulations to eagle-eyed

Private Eye for spotting a rather unfortunate misspelling on an information leaflet sent to visitors to a show at Sussex University. Visitors were informed that “there are two disabled parking bays in the Sports Car Park that are available on a first-come, first severed basis”.