Laryngitis and a Polygamous Relationship with an Aldi Raspberry Sorbet

Last weekend I felt really rough. I put it down to being hungover after going out with my friend to celebrate her birthday on Saturday night – my failing voice and sore throat was initially thought to have been caused by singing a bit too enthusiastically as I was dancing around, which isn’t uncommon. However, by Monday afternoon I started to feel particularly unwell – hot and cold flashes, sore skin, headaches – and by Tuesday morning I realised that my ‘hangover’ was actually full-blown flu, which was later accompanied by a nasty head cold and a hacking cough that just wouldn’t go away. After spending the week feeling like death-warmed-up I went to the doctors where the genuinely lovely GP took one look at me and said ‘yeah, you’ve got laryngitis – I had it myself two years ago so I know you must be feeling quite poorly.’ I really did – the most poorly I’ve felt in a very long time. Continue reading

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Fun With the NHS

imageAfter nearly a week of mild flu, a nasty cold and feeling like my head is full of cotton wool, I awoke the other day to find that one side of my face was completely blocked, including my ear. As there wasn’t any pain involved, I decided to leave it for a few days before going to the doctors, assuming that the blockage was due to congestion and pressure from being ill. However, when it hadn’t gone away yesterday, I rang my doctors to book an appointment.

I love the NHS. It’s an absolutely wonderful service and when I or my friends and family have had to go into hospital we have been treated with care and compassion by underpaid staff who still manage to give a smile despite working ridiculously long hours and receiving lots of abuse in return for their efforts.

However, I can’t say the same about my local surgery. There have been a number occasions where I have needed treatment in the last ten years and I have had to wait for days and sometimes weeks to get appointments, been rudely spoken to by apathetic doctors and staff, and in many cases have had to insist on receiving antibiotics for things like urinary tract infections. Of course, I have no medical training and don’t assume that I know better, but when tests have shown that blood is in my urine, I know that it needs something to clear it up. My resident GP is less than sympathetic, often sitting back in his chair and using Google to find out what he should do. Seriously. His response to a kidney infection a few years ago? A set of yoga classes for my back pain, that could only be scheduled on Monday afternoons during the time I would be at work. Despite this, I’ve stayed with them for nearly ten years because they’re close to where I live, the only other one available being quite a distance away.

It all came to a head at the beginning of last year when I was hospitalised for nearly a week with a massive kidney infection and a virus. It was serious – they originally thought that it was meningitis and then pneumonia – and I’ve never felt so ill in my life. After I was discharged, I was told that I had to have follow up blood tests at my doctors to ensure that everything had fully recovered, and so I had to battle to get an appointment with the nurse when I got home. She did the tests, and a week later I received a phone call to say that I would have to come in again and have the tests redone because ‘my blood had clotted’ and they were unable to use the sample I had been given. The next available appointment? A week later. I went in again, and the following week the same thing happened – this time they blamed the hospital for the fact that my sample was unable to be used – and asked me to make another appointment, stating that they could ‘fit me in’ at some point in the next week.

I’m never usually one to complain or lose my temper, but by this point I was angry. I’d been really ill, I had been forced to move house at the same time due to an unfortunate experience with a charlatan landlord, my beloved cat had just died and I was having a really rough time, and I asked to speak to the Practise Manager. I knew why the samples weren’t able to be used – instead of storing them properly, the nurse had simply written my name on the side of the tube and put it in a Tupperware box near the window – but the manager wasn’t having any of it. We exchanged a number of angry words, and that was it. No follow up, no tests, nothing.

However, as yesterday was an emergency, I decided to grit my teeth and ring them for an appointment. I was told to come to the surgery at 2.00pm to get my appointment, only to be told when I arrived that no appointments would be available until 4.30pm. When I gave them my details, they couldn’t find me on the computer system, eventually telling me that I had been de-registered. Their excuse? They had sent a letter which I hadn’t replied to, so they assumed I had moved away. It eventually transpired that they hadn’t got my new address on the system, despite obviously being given it because of the blood tests I’d had the previous year – I wouldn’t have been able to make the appointments without it. I pointed this out, adding that I’ve had the same phone number for the last ten years and they could have rang me at any time, but this was dismissed. I¬†was then asked to fill out all my paperwork again, which I did, and then I was told that instead of being able to have an appointment for the afternoon I would have to have an introductory check-up on Monday before the doctor could check my ear. Unbelievably, one of the doctors was standing next to me in reception when they were telling me this, and when I explained that I had a half-marathon on Sunday she told me to go to a walk-in centre on the other side of the city if I wanted it to be checked.

I just burst into tears – I’ve been feeling crap all week – and told them to forget it. So, instead of going to work today I’ve had to ring them and tell them that I can’t come in, which has cost me money, and I’m going to have to go to the walk-in centre instead. It’s blatantly obvious that the Practice Manager has deleted me from the system because she was angry…

May their crotches be infested with the fleas of a thousand camels, and may their arms be too short to scratch.

What about you guys? Have you had any stressful healthcare experiences?

You can also find me on Twitter and Tumblr @suzie81blog, and don’t forget to check out my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/suzie81speaks, my Pinterest page http://www.pinterest.com/suzie81speaks and my Instagram page http://www.instagram.com/suzie81speaks.

 

A Rubbish Few Days

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As I write I am lying in a hospital bed and it’s 3am. I was rushed in here 48 hours ago and this is the first time that I have been able to stare at some light longer than a minute or so due to the ridiculously intense headache that has accompanied me since I arrived.

It happened very suddenly – on Monday afternoon I started to feel a bit cold, when I tried to warm myself up in a hot bath my skin hurt, and by 3am I was lying under a duvet, shivering violently.

The doctors thought it was meningitis, then pneumonia, and now they think it’s a kidney infection combined with some sort of virus that has spread throughout my body. It must have been there for a while too, but I have ignored it with work being such a massive priority recently…

Luckily, after what seems like endless bags of saline solution and antibiotics through a drip in my arm, and some lovely food from my mum and sister (who drove 100 miles yesterday to see me) i’m beginning to feel better. The Bloke has been wonderful – helping me shower, making sure the cats are ok, messaging my mum – he must be absolutely shattered bless him! I’m also very lucky in that i’m in a private room with a fabulous view, which i hadn’t been able to appreciate until now!

I’m not going to be able to reply to your messages yet I’m afraid, but I’m looking forward to getting this bloody drip out of my arm, going home to The Bloke and the cats and catching up on your posts!

Hope you’re all doing well!

I’m Not Ready For Her To Leave Yet

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The minute she was released from her cage at the RSPCA centre, she walked over to me and pushed her head against my hand.

“I want her. Definitely this one.”

Two weeks later she arrived at my house and after she had finished exploring she promptly settled down on the back of the couch and went to sleep.

Since 2002 this bundle of fluff has been my constant in life, my little companion that has seen me through the best and the worst of times. When my parents went through a horrific divorce, she was there. She greeted me upon my return home after I graduated. She sat on my lap as I typed my CV and cover letter for my first job application, and celebrated with me when I was successful. She has assisted in many a late night marking session by chewing my pens, sitting on my books and batting my worksheets around the room. She was there when I started a new relationship and she was there when it ended. She’s attempted to eat Christmas dinner with me on many occasions, grumbling at me when she’s been removed from the table. She’s cheered my family and friends up when they’ve visited and has taken great delight in waking my mother up at 5.00am just so she can have breakfast, thanking her later by vomiting on the floor. She’s killed many a stuffed mouse, has turned golden retrievers ten times her size into cowering messes in the corner of the room and makes sure that the other two know who is boss. She’s stubborn and she’s a grumpy old mare.

Most importantly, she had loved me unconditionally and without judgement, jumping on me every night to wish me goodnight before going to her own bed. She has never put me down or made me feel bad about myself, always greeting me at the door with a chirp and expectations of a cuddle. When others have left me, she’s never failed to be there to remind me that there are more important things in life. She’s my little friend.

The vet says that she’s ill. It could be a tumour, feline leukaemia or cancer, but we won’t know until she’s had further tests. This isn’t allowed to happen – I can’t protect her from this.

The fact of the matter is that I’m simply not ready for her to leave me yet…

Note: Please forgive me for the lack of replies to your lovely comments… It’s been a ridiculously busy time but I wanted to say thank you very much for being so supportive…

Done, Done and Done

ImageI’m feeling a little delicate this morning. It could be due to the annual Christmas teacher flu that I always develop on the first day of the holidays. More likely, however, it’s because I consumed quite a large amount of alcohol last night at the staff party.

It was a really nice evening – my friend and I were on a table with the canteen staff, who are hilarious, and so we spent most of the meal in hysterical fits of laughter. Everyone looked very glamorous, the food was beautiful and after some initial reluctance most of us spent the rest of the evening dancing the night away to party classics from the 1970’s and 1980’s. At one point the Principal sat next to me to say hello and I’m a little concerned that I may have been slurring when I was speaking with her, but other than that I made it through the night relatively unscathed.

ImageWhen I got up this morning I decided to get everything finished off in preparation for the next few days. The Bloke and I are spending Christmas seperately with our own families so tomorrow we are going to have our own little celebration at home. We are going to start the day by opening our presents, then we plan to watch Disney’s ‘Frozen’ at the cinema, visit the German Market as it is the last day and then when we get back I am going to cook a nice two course meal. I would normally do three, but the children at work have been very generous and I have been swamped with enormous amounts of chocolate, so it seems pointless buying a dessert. This is usually followed by ‘A Muppets Christmas Carol,’ which has become a little tradition of ours to watch on the first weekend of the holidays.

I live one road away from the main high street, so by 8.30am I had been to the local supermarket, bought the food I needed and was back home snuggling with the cats on the couch. I think I’m done – presents, cards and food are sorted, plans have been made with friends over the next few weeks and I’ve even bought a novelty sweater to wear when I visit my sister on Christmas Day. However, I have made a little pact with myself that I will never be this disorganised again in the build up to future holidays…

After several weeks of stress, I plan to spend the rest of the day relaxing and hopefully catching up on some sleep. I’m done, done and done.

You can also find me on Twitter @Suzie81blog

Image Credits:

Picture 1: Mirror.co.uk
Picture 2: keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk