reply to post by Ginga
I don't know how you kept your cool. Losing both parents through negligence
must have been terrible.
Thank you and It was terrible.
For many years now, I believed that the way hopsitals work now are in a
dispassionate manner and as said above, bureaucracy is the name-of-the-game.
Hence, I haven't been to a Doctor or hospital for years.
For many Nurses and assistants, it's just a job... the idea that one should be
caring and humane is an unknown ability, something that belongs on TV.
I know there are good people, I know that some aspire to bring a great service
to people in suffering, but I also believe that many took a job in nursing because
it's seen as a 'secure' vocation.
When my wife was in hospital awaiting the birth of our son, she stayed in the same
hospital as my parents had been in. My boy decided to wait a little while before
entering this world and so, my wife spent the night in the place.
I remained at her side and being an ATSer, I watched wth flinty-eyes!
A Midwife came by every hour and she was a nice person, completely opposite
from the lady during the day... a skinny women with a pinched-face and miserable
I wandered the corridors during the night... most of the building seemed deserted
and apart from an unknown person smoking in the stair-well, nobody was seen.
When 6.00am came around, I ventured down to where a private cafeteria was situated.
Apparently, private businesses can do better in the food services than the UK NHS!
The place was packed with hospital employees!
The chatting and laughing of around 30 people sitting around tables with large jugs of
coffee and plates of danish -startled me and yet, I kept myself checked and pondered
that I had caught the staff between shifts.
I bought a cup of coffee and made it last for over thirty minutes.
The group of men and women never left, they just sat chatting, joking and even one
of them was knitting!
After 35 minutes, I got up and went back to my sleep-deprived wife, the staff stayed.
Years went by and my son grew.
At 9 years-old, he jumped from our garden fence and fell... his forearm swelled and
he complained that he couldn't move it.
Yes, you guessed it, I took him to the hospital... THAT hospital!
They said his arm was broken/not broken/broken/greenstick broken and then a nurse
took us to a storeroom and applied a plastered cast.
Chairs and stacked tables surrounded us as she slapped on the gypsum plaster.
A few weeks later, a visit to a Doctor who struggled with the English language found
us coming to terms with the announcement that my son's arm hadn't been set properly
and the arm would have to be 're-broken'!!
They took him into surgery and without removing his coat, they broke the arm and
placed a heavy-duty cast to the limb.
A Nurse busied up to me and told me that I must sign this document that allowed
them to use suppositories on my son.
That was it. I leaned over and hissed that if I discovered that they'd even contemplated
touching his ass, I'd make it my business to find out where she lived and with narrowed
-eyes, I told her softly "I'll come-a-calling"
He's now twenty-years old, a University student and his arm works fine.
Nobody used 'ass-bullets' and nobody went 'a-calling'!!