Sexy surgical socks
Just before Christmas, I accidentally clashed heads with somebody while doing sports so hard that I broke the orbital bone underneath my right eye. This is called a āblowout fractureā. He effectively headbutted my eye. Yes, it hurt. A lot. And bled from my nose. I didnāt know anything was broken at the time, I just thought Iād had a bad knock. But more worrying was the instant double vision, which seemed to return back to normal(ish) very quickly. Even though it was getting better I still had it, so I phoned 111 the next day. Head injury with double vision? āStay there, weāre sending a paramedic overā.
They took me to A&E since my symptoms were an indicator of bleeding on the brain, which is obviously a serious business. The doctor gave me an X-Ray, looked in my eyes and said I was fine. Go home. I had a bit of a black eye, but it didnāt look particularly bad. After Christmas I got a call from the hospital saying they were going over the X-Rays and found something they missed. Could I come in for a CT scan straight away? This sounded serious so I did. The CT scan indicated a fracture under the eye. I was referred to the Maxillo Fascial Unit at the Bristol Eye Hospital. After waiting a bit I went for my appointment with a surgeon who started talking about volumes of liquid in a glass and how mine was now a bigger glass, but the only words I was really taking in were āover time your eye will recede into your headā. So thereās nothing you can do?, I managed to blurt out at one point. āOh yes, thereās surgery to correct it. Weāll put a metal plate in your headā.
Faced with that or my *eye receding into my head* I went with the latter option. I did the pre-op visit the same day and after a few days, I received an appointment at the BRI to have the operation done in a couple of weeks. That seemed a reasonable time to me as it was classed as a non-emergency but āneeded doingā.
Hereās what happens when you are admitted. First, you have to rearrange your life around the fact that you have to stay in hospital overnight. So youāve moved things around at work, cancelled things you were going to do, booked time off and generally written off the week for getting over the general anesthetic and pain. You canāt eat or drink anything 7 hours before the op, which is inconvenient. Then you need to get to hospital at 7.15am. The BRI is right in the centre of Bristol so you get dropped off by a helpful friend (thank you, Jonathan).
So you do all that. From 6.30am onwards you and your little group of todayās patents gather in the waiting room, with a sense of too early morning doom hanging over you all. Youāre all going through your own different personal hells as you wait. Then you are called in.
A nurse calls you to a room, does some blood pressure checks and makes sure you havenāt got MRSA or any other major health problems. Once thatās done the anesthetist rolls in. They are full of optimism and joy. They talk you through the anesthetic procedure and how itās all good to go from their end and there wonāt be any problems. Now your spirits are lifted and youāre feeling positive everything is going ahead. Then the surgeon comes in and tells you thereās a 50% chance it wonāt happen because thereās no bed for you currently. And since you were last here (yes, this is your *second* attempt at an operation after the first was cancelled because there wasnāt an anesthetist available), ā50% of all patients have been sent home without their operationā, so your chances really arenāt good. But wait until the 11 oāclock bed meeting and hopefully one will free up, but it doesnāt usually because you are a lower priority to people having a genuine medical emergency, and your procedure ādoesnāt need to be done todayā.
But after waiting 2 hours thereās some good news! Thereās a bed! After another wait, you see the surgeon again and he looks positively relieved āGood news!ā, he says, but there are people due to be operated on before you so it wonāt be until after 3.30. Thatās ok, Iāve got a book and a comfy seat. I can wait.
To be fair, the constant state of anxiety about whether it will or wonāt happen does take your mind off the fact that a surgeon is going to open up your face with a sharp knife and mess around with your eyeball before putting a metal plate underneath it and screwing it in.
You relax and settle down to read. 2 hours later a very nice woman you havenāt seen before turns up and tells you that sheās very sorry but your operation is canceled because theyāve ārun out of timeā. Thatās it. Go home, wait for another appointment in the post. āBut this is the second time this has happened!ā, you say. āI know, sorryā¦ā, she says. Apparently, the woman due to go before me has only just gone in and hers is a long operation, meaning they wonāt be finished before 5.
At this point you say FML and look into private health care, wishing you’d done that a month ago. At least they wiped the arrow they’d drawn on my head off this time before they sent me home, unlike last time.
Iām lucky that my job comes with private health care (BUPA). Iāve never used it. My NHS surgeon was at great pains to say that if I went private then he couldnāt recommend one hospital over another, but I got some options out of him. I eventually wrestled a āconsultation authorisation number’ out of BUPAās corporate team (Thereās a Ā£100 excess I need to pay, or something) over the phone and contact a private hospital. They gave me a consultation date of the next day at 9.30am in the morning. āWe have our own car park, which you can useā. (Words you will never hear in the NHS.)
I still donāt know if my insurance covers me for the op – I have to get a procedure code at the consultation, then phone up and find out if Iām covered for that procedure, or something. I still might not actually be covered. Iāve yet to find out.
Iāve used NHS local doctors and dentists all my life. I hadnāt felt the need to go through the hassle of enacting private health insurance because everything seemed to be going smoothly on the NHS. Until it wasnāt. Twice, now. And with no guarantee it will be any different the third time.
I love the idea of the NHS. Iāve been paying for it all my working life. I tried to use it, but itās broken. All the doctors and nurses I met were lovely, but if the system is broken how does that help?
If thereās a motto then just donāt get any sort of non-emergency injury in Britain in 2018. Or be rich. I guess thatās the message.
Oh and if you live in Britain, then please vote anything other than Conservative at the next election. That would help, thanks.
The Tai Chi Notebook 