writer's moll

It’s been a while since I was a regular at the A & E department of our local hospital explaining the causes of the kids’ broken or bleeding bodies as well as the inexplicable - the swallowing of a co2 bottle from a soda siphon, but last weekend I’m reminded of what bizarre places they are. My step-daughter has an emergency gynaecological problem, so off we drive to our nearest A & E. We know immediately that this won’t be a short visit when we see an ominous flashing notice saying that patients will be seen in order of priority, not arrival. Okay, heart attacks or severed arteries aside, that’s a pretty subjective judgement to make – A kid’s incessant screaming might get most people’s vote but it’s not necessarily the right one. So we know there’ll be none of the usual satisfaction of seeing the queue being whittled down. In the post office I cope by counting the number of customers and giving them each a minute and amuse myself watching the clock and the queue to see how accurate I am, but with a system like this, we’ve no idea how long we’ll be there. It turns out to be over 3 hours. The only certainty seems that anyone approaching the receptionist will receive the same resentful vibes – no bump is big enough, no blood loss extreme enough or limb at acute enough angle to soften that baleful mask. I try for a drink from the machine next to her desk but my bottle wobbles teasingly on the edge of the ledge for a few seconds and there it stays. I make eye contact with her and ask if she’s in charge of the machine, she snaps ‘no’ and when I ask who is, tells me she’s ‘dealing with a patient’, then as punishment for interrupting her sends me on a wild goose chase to track down who is in charge. The answer of course is no one. Then there’s the rebuke for disobeying the notice three feet in front of the desk. It reminds me of a poll the BBC are doing to find the worst building in Britain – not the ugliest but the one that just doesn’t work. Among the nominations is a bus station which has been cleverly and thoughtfully designed with walk ways all around it, but ignores the basic principle that people always choose the shortest route to where they’re going, so little old ladies risk their lives darting between buses, but on paper that probably looked a fabulous bus station. And so it is with this notice, which is actually two notices, but all you register is the one in red saying that if you’re having breathing difficulties let the staff know immediately. The one neither we, nor anyone else seems to see, says ‘queue here’ so each of us go up to the desk and are asked to get back behind the notice. Now it’s possible that someone may have brought up the fact at the team meeting that either everyone who comes in is illiterate, they’re anarchists or they’re not registering the notice, but then again, if the receptionist is in charge, perhaps no one dares mention it.

This story has a frustrating postscript to it which might make this sound like an NHS bashing blog but honestly, it isn’t. I’ve the greatest respect for the skill of the surgeons, doctors and nurses who actually treat the patients. It’s just the administration that sucks. My stepdaughter is finally admitted at 4 o’clock and after an hour, with nothing happening and not having had lunch, eats a sandwich. At 6 o’clock the doctor arrives and says if she hadn’t eaten it she could have had the op tonight! So, on Monday she’s prepared for her op , allowed nothing to eat or drink all day and at 9 o’clock that evening, is told that they can’t fit her in for that day either. So now we must pass today trying to judge the urgency level of incoming patients but fearing that the patient arriving by ambulance pushes her further down the queue.