NEXT TIME TAKE ME TO THE VETS.

I'm not given to moaning and especially not when it comes to matters of my health. Generally speaking, no matter what, when asked how I am, I'll smile and say "Fine thanks, and you?" After all no one really likes the individual who will stand for what seems like hours discussing their every ache and pain and especially not when that individual has several long-term health problems and you are just as likely (nay, more likely) to catch them on a bad day as a good.  That said (apologies, I'm now going to moan) you sometimes just need to get these things off your chest ......

Some of you may be aware that I haven't been too well over the last week or two or three and things came to a head on Friday when I saw our nurse for a routine injection. Not liking the sound of my breathing, she sent me in to see one of our GP's - a lovely German woman who is no-nonsense and very, very thorough. Having listened to my chest and done all my observations, she declared I had a(nother) chest infection and would need another course of steroids (my third) and another (not one) but two lots of antibiotics (my third lot) AND should really be going to hospital ..... and would be admitted if I wasn't able to skip into the surgery come Monday morning (on two crutches? Impossible anyway.)

Needless to say, Monday came and I was no better despite trying to convince Husband dearest otherwise. The upshot, after being given a nebuliser (basically inhaled steroids) and oxygen, our GP sent for an ambulance which is where the 'fun and games' nightmare began.

You know as well as not complaining about my health, I'm equally as loath to complain about our National Health Service and especially not when I hear about my US blogger buddies, some of whom have experienced their relatives lying in pain and untreated until insurance details are given etc. No, we are extremely fortunate to get 'free' health care, a service that takes care of us 'FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE' (click on the previous link for an on-line copy of Geoffrey Rivett's book which chronicles the history of our NHS) BUT .........

Despite having been told an ambulance would be with us in less than twenty minutes, I waited an hour. No real problem, the ambulance service was busy answering emergency calls and I was in no real danger, receiving medical care from people I knew and trusted - our sincere thanks to all of them, doctors, nurse and receptionists for their care.

I skip forward to arrival in hospital where I was left in a corridor, they called it a waiting room - it wasn't - until I was taken through to triage to have my first examination which included having my blood pressure (BP) taken. Yeah right, never have I known anyone take a BP reading through a thick jumper and a thick winter coat, I'm amazed they got any reading at all.

Anyway, taken back to the corridor waiting room, we were once again left sitting until a nurse (lovely but so rushed off her feet she kept getting my name wrong) came to take some blood (I was lucky, I got taken into an actual real room, others had their blood taken whilst sitting in the corridor) and do a heart trace.

More waiting until I get to see this arrogant little doctor who has yet to even fully qualify - he may well introduce himself and shake the hands of both Hd and myself but his tone and condescending look says it all - not another overweight patient.

"Do you work" he demands to know. "No" "Why not?" "Because I have a list of ongoing health problems and no one would employ me with that list no matter what my rights to work as a disabled person." I want to shout but can't because I'm too busy trying to breath and not doing a very good job of it.

"Any swelling of the ankles?" he then asks, grabbing hold of a leg which has obviously seen several surgeries. I scream, suffering from CRPS I cannot stand the slightest touch and his grabbing hold does not help. I feel an apology or, better still, some sign of understanding is warranted, he obviously doesn't.

Examination torture over, his final question "So, do you think you are poorly enough to be in hospital or would you prefer to be at home?"

Of course I'd rather be at home, who wouldn't? And as for being poorly enough to be in hospital? No matter what I thought at least one nurse and two GP's thought so.

Rant over, I did get home that day. Obviously not too sick to be admitted to hospital but too poorly I felt to be left sitting in a corridor for almost five hours.

The hospital's diagnosis? A viral infection.

I've tried to keep this as short as possible, I'm just so upset and annoyed right now and, if I'm honest, feeling as if I have wasted a lot of time and resources. My question being are some hospital doctors 'lucky' enough to get to go to charm school? In my experience, they would be far better off being prescribed a big dose of humanity.

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