We need them more than ever...

 

After spending a precarious week that began with a visit to my GP and an emergency operation, and ended with me (thankfully) racking up another notch on the birthday calendar, it's safe to say that it's been a heck of a time recently. 

With everything else that's going on in the world (the Ukraine / Russia crisis giving the news sites something else to report on other than our government's corruption and sleaze or the ridiculous relaxation in COVID precautions), I could have done without suffering from a chronically infected abscess on my back but without the NHS the week could've been far more catastrophic from a health point of view. 

So it started with a cyst, a nagging annoyance on my back that usually is no bigger than a marble. This benign thing usually gets a good squeeze (courtesy of my long suffering wife who is the Doctor Pimple Popper of our family, relishing in all things zit-shaped - don't ask me why). This time though after her last attempt, the cyst became infected (not her fault at all, just 'one of those things' apparently, according to my GP) and I managed to limp through an extremely painful week until I finally relented and went to the doctor. 

Now there's a thing here that blokes are notoriously infamous for. Not going to the doctor when they need to. I've always been like that, even more so lately - partly through my own fear and inadequacy, but also partly through a feeling of extreme guilt whenever I have to call on the services of our well and truly stretched health service. 

I got an early appointment and was seen on monday morning. I was referred to hospital immediately, as the infection was not looking good at all. On arrival at the hospital I was assessed and told that it may be a bit of a wait until I could be operated on (as the abscess needed to be drained and cleaned up) with two options, being awake for it (no thank you very much) or being knocked out for the 3rd time in my life. 

I opted for the latter. I have a fairly high tolerance for pain but the abscess was already causing me enough discomfort, I did not want to chance more pain through allowing them to operate with just local anaesthesia. 

Finally at 5 to midnight I was whisked into surgery, operated on and was out and awake again in about an hour and a half flat. 

Since then the wound has healed, with regular dressing changes (again calling on the resources of our amazing health service). At each point I've been treated with compassion and professionalism by staff who may be called superheroes by the press, but are ordinary everyday folk earning a living in an extraordinary and amazing way. 

I can't thank them enough. Despite the pain I was in, I always treated the staff as I'd hope to be treated myself. Always grateful, happy, smiley where possible and compliant with their requests. Others in the ward (the sort of middle aged men who think nothing of shouting at people to get their own way, one fellah even sitting there playing a noisy mobile game as loudly as possible in a ward where others were resting and recuperating) weren't quite so pleasant, and it made me angry and annoyed to think that the staff treated them as they'd treated me - probably through gritted teeth. 

We are so very lucky to have our health service, despite the government's continued attempts to derail and privatise it just as they have with our transport and utilities (and we all know how well that's been going over the last 40 years). I still have a thin glimmer of hope that somehow the NHS will prevail. It has to, we need it more than ever as our population ages out. Never been more grateful to live in this country than I am at the moment but there's not very much else to be proud of while living here.