NHS and it's problems

2 September

Just after I posted yesterday’s blog, we heard a clatter and bump, in the kitchen as I thought. Around half hour later Jan went out and found a pile of mail on the floor, so it wasn’t in the kitchen as I thought. None of it was for me so Jan began opening hers and go a tad concerned over one of them. She had been given an appointment at Birmingham Orthopaedic Hospital in Selly Oak. I know where it is, I’ve been there before, it’s on the A38 south of the city centre. She is due there at 9.15 this morning, that’s in seven minutes. No bloody way!

Our most direct route would be north on the M6 to Gravely Interchange, or Spaghetti Junction using its local name, turn south-west onto the A38M and that takes us straight around the city and to the hospital. However, to get any chance of getting there for 9.15 we would have to leave home around 8am at the latest. The M6 is renowned for delays during the rush hour, same as A38M is, after all, it’s one of the major routes into the city. Anyway, Jan phoned them and arranged another one for 10.15 on Monday.

If she needs more surgery and has to go there for it, getting her there and visiting will be a major problem without the car. It will mean a bus journey into town here, a train to Brum and then either another train and bus from there to the hospital; and return of course. Cost will also play a major part in things too. Now I’m really wishing I hadn’t sent my licence back!

Dave, my brother had a hip replacement done over there and mother insisted on being taking over there every day. Dave had me added to his insurance for it and I drove her over there, and waited and waited. She wouldn’t leave until visiting had ended, and it was open visiting between 12 midday to 8pm. That was a long time to sit looking around doing nothing. None of us found anything much to talk about and found myself going off and walking around the grounds and up and down the A38. It was a not a fun time at all. I am not looking forward to it again …

There’s a lot more being said about mental illness in the media these days, and about time too! This is a subject that has been hidden away for too long, and it doesn’t get the amount of funding that it needs to manage the huge number of patients within the UK. A report on the news last night was about the number of people sleeping rough out on the streets, many of them are mentally ill.

One man they showed was sectioned and placed in a hospital, two days later he was back out on the streets after being discharged. Yet no checks were made as to what sort of support was available for him when he left the hospital. So the team found him back on the streets again. This man is a danger to himself and anyone else, and yet he isn’t getting help or support at all. I find that strange seeing as they wouldn’t release me from the Walsgrave last month if I was living alone or hoped to drive home myself, or even catch the bus.

The difference is staggering really. I’m stable and living at home with my wife, and we support each other, and yet we get help when we need it. A seriously mentally ill patient is discharged to fend for themselves out on the street without any support at all. So much for care in the community then! Yet another Mad Maggie policy came up with without thinking it through or proper funding.

Last October time I fell over here in the living room and that has lead on to all sorts of things, including mental health investigations. OK, I do get dressed at times and I’m on anti-depressants, but so far this year I’ve had a MRI scan and an appointment with a ‘memory’ nurse, and next Tuesday I have another appointment for a neuropsychological assessment. And all this for a fall in the living room. If that can be done here in Dorktown when I thought it was a physical problem, then why not elsewhere where there are clear signs of mental illness?

Today’s photo …

two gaur or seladang, a type of water buffalo I suppose.

Today’s funny …

When his car suddenly grinds to a halt on a lonely country road the driver tries to restart it but to no avail. So he gets out and opens the bonnet and starts fiddling with the sparkplugs. Suddenly he hears a voice. ''The left hand carburettor is blocked, why don't you drain it and the muck should come out too''. He turns round and can see no one, so he shrugs and goes back to what he was doing. ''Drain the muck out of the left hand carburettor'', says the voice again, and when he turns round all he can see is a black horse with its head over the hedge looking at him. Again the voice tells him what to do and he suddenly realises that the horse is giving him instructions. Too shocked to argue, he does as he is told, starts the car and sure enough it works. He drives down to the nearest bar and, rushing in like a madman, has a stiff drink. Then he says to the barman, ''My car broke down up there and a horse told me how to repair it''.
The barman looks at him and says, ''Was it a black one?''
''Yes.''
''I thought so, the white one knows nothing about cars.''