‘NHS is a lost cause’ – student’s op despair
This is 20-year-old Welsh student Molly Rogers, who is waiting for an operation she desperately needs. Despite being a huge advocate of the NHS, she fears it is in danger of collapse. Here’s her heart-rending account of her latest hospital experience...
TODAY I realised something that I’d not wanted to admit for a long time: our NHS is dying.
It’s on its last legs, breaking down before our very eyes.
It’s a metaphorical 69-yearold body being beaten into a heartbreakingly early end by the cancerous governments that hold its reins.
Both Theresa May’s NHS and that of Carwyn Jones (my personal experience took place in Wales) are under such bad strain that even I – possibly the biggest advocate of our health service – am struggling to see how it can bounce back to become the wonderful universal service Aneurin Bevan gifted us all in 1948.
For months I have been back and forth to a GP with gynaecology problems (that I definitely won’t delve into).
To cut a long story short, I was referred to a gynaecologist and told it was a five- to six-month wait just to see a consultant.
This was expected. Waitingtimes are often advertised on the news as long, and while they should be shorter, I took this on board and chose to see a consultant privately.
I was lucky enough to have healthcare insurance that covered diagnostic consultations.
Within a week I’d had a scan and a diagnosis, with a treatment plan.
This was where my ability to be seen privately ended, and I had to return to NHS care.
I was placed on an urgent waiting-list for a laparoscopy (a surgical diagnostic procedure used to examine the organs inside the abdomen) and was told I’d be waiting for a maximum of four months, which was longer than usual but fine.
At this point the NHS was still functioning and managing in my eyes, even if a little slower than expected.
Everything was panned out. I would have the operation, be able to finish my second year of university in time and manage to go abroad to work during the summer as planned.
But after a pre-op appointment and several phone calls to day surgery, it became apparent that four months was beginning to look more like five or six, possibly more.
My summer plans were looking doubtful, university was getting affected and my health was suffering more than ever.
I began to accept that I wouldn’t be having my surgery before the summer.
I put painkiller plans in place to help, until a routine phone call led to me being offered a date. Amazing!
How stupid was I to doubt our healthcare service! Of course they wouldn’t let me down.
Fast forward to today, May 9, 2017, and everything takes a turn for the worse.
I was turned away, told my surgery had been cancelled.
Cue tears and a vast explanation into how this was going to affect my studies and summer work.
I was sat down by a nurse, who was going to try to sort things out, for almost two hours.
I’ve watched TV programmes about how hospitals are overrun, read newspaper articles saying we need to save our service, but this experience confirmed for me that this is quite possibly a lost cause.
The day surgery unit is designed for people to rest following minor surgery and go home the same day. It’s a place to recover before returning home.
But rather uncomfortablelooking temporary beds were being used for very poorly-looking patients.
Clearly the rest of the hospital was full. Several phone calls were made in an attempt to move patients to overnight wards where they’d be more comfortable and have the correct facilities.
But these were, at least during my two hours, unsuccessful.
Nurses rushed from one patient to another, fulfilling needs, however, it was clear that each individual’s needs could not be catered for properly.
At this moment I am lying in bed, exhausted from what happened this morning.
I’d built myself up and reached breaking-point when being told to go home.
There’s something heartbreaking about witnessing first hand, and from an outsider’s point of view, the way the NHS is being stretched, but right now the only positive I can reach is the dedication of the staff.
One nurse spent her morning demanding I get a new date as soon as possible. Another offered me water and insisted my blood was taken to speed up the process for next time.
I felt at my absolute lowest, yet upon leaving was still made to smile by these unbelievable people.
To have to get up every day and witness your workplace losing its functions despite your best efforts must be demoralising.
To have to tell patients that their surgery has been cancelled and watch them burst into tears takes courage. And to continue to be strong and do your job to the absolutely best of your ability shows that the only hope we have now is the workers themselves.
Maybe together their passion to care can help bring our NHS back from the brink of death to once again become the life-saving service so many in this country rely on, because it’s very clear that no government official has any intentions of making this change themselves.