We’re seeing the results of consistent cutbacks in services yet the staff on the ground are still brilliant. I usually have to wait, grovelling on the floor for well over two hours before an ambulance crew arrive to scrape me back up. When they do come, they are also brilliant.
The latest incident has seen me hanging on for over four weeks for a pre-chemotherapy appointment with a specialist in Maidstone. When I rang, his secretary informed me that they had not yet received a referral.
At eight-thirty on Monday morning, a rather contrite nurse rang from Tunbridge Wells to say that she’d fast-tracked my case that morning. That was four weeks of suspenders. (Ooh matron!) But I know that my treatment will be beyond reproach.
I know they are stretched but I think I just fell off the radar. It happened when I was referred for radiotherapy.
The initial referral and tests started in September 2018. It was a dreadful year. And now all hopes and dreams for 2019 are on the verge of biting me back. Again I feel a sense of the double-edged sword.
I am grateful for early diagnosis and that the treatment being there for me yet the time-scale seems dreadful.
Catching some nasty infection in hospital didn’t help; bye-bye to five weeks of my life. And now I’m still dancing in limbo-land.
Am I turning selfish? Am I beginning to sound like the modern trend for egocentric adverts?
“I need to know so I can get on and organise my life. After all, everything about me!”
Well for starters, I am never going to slag off the warriors of the NHS. I’m big enough and ugly enough to cope. I am stubborn and determined to stay independent. Every now and then, life might go a bit pear-shaped but here I am.
Similarly, I appear to be waiting an age for my bathroom conversion. I know the wheels are turning but have they still got the handbrake on?
Both the local authority care system and all those wonderful people in the NHS have ensured my independence.
How can I complain?
Thank you for reading.