Subject: FW: All in a day's work.
"There was a time". There was a time when if you were admitted to hospital you could expect at least a 24 hours stay. They inevitably kept you in overnight to keep an eye on you but not any more, today it's the fast track, book them in and chase them out.
The nursing bit, the observational bit has been shifted on to the lap of Joe public. The procedural conveyor belt has become so streamlined, there is a presumption that the patient has a relative/friend not only to accompany them home but to stay with them for the next 24 hours.
In our traditional world the family was confirmed as in place where, to a large extent, relatives and friends were on hand to lend a hand. In today's world the composite family is a thing of the past and although the will is there the, bodies on the ground don't necessarily match.
In the "good old days" a general anesthetic could be given by a dentist, if the extraction merited it. It was given by the dentist, gas from a bottle in the corner of his surgery, the mask unceremoniously clamped on your face as you struggled for breath. No pre-drowsy, feelie feelie treatment then, only a job to be done , suck it up son.
The point is that there was no need no consider the after effects of the anaesthetic, no need to offset 'litigation' if you fell over as you walked out onto the street, hopefully minus your tooth.
It's the threat of litigation which has thrown the hospital business on its head. Given the intensity and complications of the procedures performed these days it seems to me a bit counter intuitive to complain, unless he leaves his stethoscope inside.
Of course our culture has become intolerant of failure, other than of a of failure by ourselves. We blame failure or oversight on all and sundry and the term "using your common sense" seems to be passing out of the lexicon of modern thinking.
Just eaten spicy minestrone soup and equally spicy beef stroganoff with noodles, a delightful ginger pudding with custard and all is forgiven, the service is great.
Talking to one of the nurses she told me her day started at 8am and finished at 8.30 pm. That's a long day to be on your feet caring for old buggers like me. They work 3 long shifts and then change to shorter ones which include the weekend. It reminded me of the Victorian saga, Upstairs Downstairs where the Master commanded your time and you respectfully touched your cap. These days there are few Brits willing, or able to go along with this regime, most of the people on the Ward, other than the doctors come from a copucaynia of nations and we should be thankful of the fact that they work in the NHS.
The nursing bit, the observational bit has been shifted on to the lap of Joe public. The procedural conveyor belt has become so streamlined, there is a presumption that the patient has a relative/friend not only to accompany them home but to stay with them for the next 24 hours.
In our traditional world the family was confirmed as in place where, to a large extent, relatives and friends were on hand to lend a hand. In today's world the composite family is a thing of the past and although the will is there the, bodies on the ground don't necessarily match.
In the "good old days" a general anesthetic could be given by a dentist, if the extraction merited it. It was given by the dentist, gas from a bottle in the corner of his surgery, the mask unceremoniously clamped on your face as you struggled for breath. No pre-drowsy, feelie feelie treatment then, only a job to be done , suck it up son.
The point is that there was no need no consider the after effects of the anaesthetic, no need to offset 'litigation' if you fell over as you walked out onto the street, hopefully minus your tooth.
It's the threat of litigation which has thrown the hospital business on its head. Given the intensity and complications of the procedures performed these days it seems to me a bit counter intuitive to complain, unless he leaves his stethoscope inside.
Of course our culture has become intolerant of failure, other than of a of failure by ourselves. We blame failure or oversight on all and sundry and the term "using your common sense" seems to be passing out of the lexicon of modern thinking.
Just eaten spicy minestrone soup and equally spicy beef stroganoff with noodles, a delightful ginger pudding with custard and all is forgiven, the service is great.
Talking to one of the nurses she told me her day started at 8am and finished at 8.30 pm. That's a long day to be on your feet caring for old buggers like me. They work 3 long shifts and then change to shorter ones which include the weekend. It reminded me of the Victorian saga, Upstairs Downstairs where the Master commanded your time and you respectfully touched your cap. These days there are few Brits willing, or able to go along with this regime, most of the people on the Ward, other than the doctors come from a copucaynia of nations and we should be thankful of the fact that they work in the NHS.
The end of a busy day on the ward the day shift depart and the night shift appear with their customers early bustle, taking temperatures and blood pressure, a sort of check list to see who is well and who is likely to give them a problem during the night. Slowly the frenetic pace declines and a slow tranquility descends. Lights go out and you settle down to that most cherished thing, sleep until, "Sorry sir can I take your blood pressure". It happens at 10pm and again at 2am and 6am. My claim that the greatest healer is sleep, fell on deaf ears and that the metaphorical place where we retire to escape the stress and unanswered questions is sleep. I suspect that the value of 'sleep' is immeasurably greater than the box ticking my blood pressure, 139/74.
Daybreak arrives at last and thoughts are centred on breakfast and an early discharge. If breakfast is as good as last nights meal I will be well satisfied and it's out onto the busy streets and a tube and train ride home.
No comments:
Post a Comment