We didn’t get coronavirus, but we paid the price
With millions waiting for NHS treatment, many have been left behind
Iwas scrolling through Twitter one morning in April when a familiar number popped up on my phone – my local hospital. I knew the call was coming; this would be the latest in a series of cancelled appointments – a date for laparoscopic surgery that was booked back in January when life could still be scheduled months in advance.
When I answered the call, I was surprised to hear from my no-nonsense professor instead of the usual office staff. There was a softness in her voice as she asked how I was doing. I told her I’d had a rough few weeks – I have uterine fibroids (benign growths in the womb) and endometriosis, meaning I live with chronic pelvic pain and can bleed for three weeks of the month.
“You’re calling to cancel my surgery, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes, Catherine. But we also need to talk about the next steps.”
I took a deep breath as she continued: “We can’t reschedule your appointments any time soon. By the time we get back on track, there is a real chance your fibroids and endometriosis will have continued to grow, and radical surgery may be the only solution.”
“You mean a hysterectomy?”
“Yes, Catherine, a hysterectomy. I just wanted to give you time to prepare before we meet again.”
I was due to have a laparoscopy on April 30 – where fine instruments would be used to remove the endometrial tissue causing me pain and my larger fibroids would be surgically removed. I’d been told the recovery period would be around four weeks and there was an
80 per cent chance
I would feel the benefits of the surgery within two weeks of discharge.
Now, I was facing the prospect of a major operation, with double the recovery time, along with the emotional impact of losing my womb.
As we said our goodbyes, I realised I was crying. I looked at my phone and noted that the life-changing call was only six minutes long. A short call for such big news. It wasn’t the first time radical surgery was mentioned, but it was discussed as a last resort, something that may happen years, not months from now.
I am 38, and while children are not in my future, I don’t feel ready to condemn the organ that symbolises my very femininity to medical waste.
When the pandemic hit, I knew my appointments would be postponed, without realising the potential for long-term impact.
It had taken two years to see a gynaecology consultant after being fobbed off by various GPS, one of whom told me that pain and excessive bleeding were just “part of being a woman”.
After coming so far and having a plan to manage the conditions that hugely impacted my daily life, I felt utterly deflated. According to modelling carried out by the Covidsurg collaborative – a global network
of surgeons and anaesthetists – more than 516,000 planned surgeries would be cancelled or postponed in the UK during the first 12 weeks of Covid disruptions, a backlog that might take 11 months to clear. Last week the NHS Confederation projected that the number of people waiting for NHS treatment could double to 10 million by the end of the year. Behind every cancellation is a patient who psyched themselves up for surgery and pinned their hopes on a cure, only to have it all snatched away.
In early June I received another call from my gynaecologist, who told me the significant backlog of cancelled operations meant my case was simply not urgent enough to warrant a surgery date.
Instead, I will now be given monthly injections to put me in a chemicallyinduced menopause, to help shrink my fibroids and stop the heavy bleeding. I’m scared of the side-effects of such drastic treatment, but desperate for some respite.
When you have a condition that takes a mental, emotional and physical toll on your body, every day in pain feels like a lifetime.
‘A cancelled operation has made me infertile’
That lifechanging call had lasted just six minutes