Dear future historian,
I am, as I’m writing this, number 18th in the medical
centre's phone queue. I'm waiting 45 min already. I was number 30 in the queue
when this call started.
Let me introduce you to the story:
I have a booked, by the GP, appointment to the hospital for
an x-ray. It was booked last week, regarding a pain in my knee I have been
having for months now. I repeat, just in case, I have a booked
appointment. Which I double checked the date and time, by calling
them yesterday and waiting again in the unrealistic queue, because, I admit, I
had lost the paper that I had written the appointment, a paper I did find later,
and now I have two papers that prove the existence of this appointment: today,
11 of April, at 10am, at the Canterbury hospital.
...
So, now I am 11th at the telephone queue, again, to ask about
this appointment. How come? I arrived at the hospital on time, and I was
already too overwhelmed by walking so much. I get quite easily tired last
year.) I arrived at the first reception at the hospital. After I waited in the
queue in that reception for a while, they send me to the x-ray reception. Here,
at the x-ray reception, they had no idea about my appointment either.
The reception staff here in the bigging treated me like it's
highly unlikely that I know what I’m talking about. They saw my
sunflower-lanyard, maybe also my immigrant accent, and the matter was
'settled'. I was confused about having an appointment or something, whatever,
people are waiting, go back to check with the one that booked you the
appointment etc. They said they never got any notification from the medical
centre about my supposed appointment. That I was confused is undeniable. Yet, as
I told them again and again, I was confused only about the department of the
hospital that my appointment was at. I was quite sure about the date and
time.
Then, a sweet nurse, offered to help me because I almost had
a meltdown/shutdown. I started crying and I sat on a chair saying: I am not
leaving till I'm seen, and the guy at the computer saw my Doctor Who backpack
and he's also a whovian. Meeting a fellow whovian always makes me smile. I feel
better now here, waiting at Canterbury hospital, and look at that, I'm caller 4th
already.
The nurse offered to call for me but when she saw the
waiting time (I repeat, I was 30th in the queue) she gave up. I told her I
won't give up.
...
Still waiting, me, an autistic, with anxiety,
waiting (30th) to confirm my own booked appointment, calling with my own phone,
my own credits, and my own patience limits. I am about to blow up. NHS is
making sure only the fit or very determined or the very supported/loved will
survive. Not what I expected of civilization in 2023; honestly very
disappointed.
I’m going for now; 3rd in the queue. Better to do some
breathing exercises before they pick up, so I won't get nonverbal from the
stress (I do sometimes and ...
They picked up when I was writing the last paragraph. They
couldn't hear me well, so they hanged up!! After waiting for an hour, they
actually, really, no kidding, hanged up!!!
The hospital nurse then was trying to explain to me that she
cannot help me. I said I know; I'll call them again and I am not leaving the
hospital till you talk with them.
She started explaining to me again what she said just
before: they should have been send a letter about your appointment and blah
blah. I said: I know my sunflower-lanyard might unfortunately make you believe
I’m stupid, but that is not what the lanyard means. I understand it is not your
mistake, and there's nothing you can do about. But, I have booked that
appointment after much similar trouble (long phone queues) and I both need and
I am entitled to this appointment. Thus, I am not leaving before the matter is
settled.
So, I called them again. Now I’m still 12th in the 2nd
telephone queue. Maybe, I should have broken the knee before I arrived, I'd
have more chances getting it fixed in that place.
...
Nurse just came and questioned me again about the date that
I booked my appointment etc questioning my ability to give proper answers and
stuff. Not by insulting me straightforward. But, by asking me the same
questions, again and again, as if I don’t understand how to answer. As if that I
don’t remember the exact day last week that I booked my appointment, has
anything to do with the fact that I can’t find the correct reception.
...
Things got new turn. They almost told me I should leave. It started
because the nurse that was nice to me an hour ago, now wants to get rid of me. She
told me maybe go to the emergencies. It seems I was right before. If it was
broken, I’d have more chances to fix it.
‘And you'll be seen straight away’, she said.
I said: Straight away would be if I was seen at 10am, when
my appointment was.
And she said: I’m only trying to help you here, if you
continue like this, I will have to ask you to leave.
I’m writing it as its happening, so I won’t miss anything.
They threatened to ask me to leave because I said that: My
appointment was one hour ago!!
How dare I talk back when I’m being Gaslighted? (You can be
seen right away = 1,5 hour after your appointment).
Her final comment after she heard on my speaker the GP explaining
where I should be: You didn’t tell us your appointment might not be in the
x-ray (it was at the physiotherapy apparently)!
That was the first thing I told them, that I’m not sure
where to go.
...
At the emergency. I was finally seen by a nice nurse, now
waiting for the doctor. Well, the other nurse, at the x-ray, seemed nice too in
the beginning, till I had the audacity to describe my situation. Well, I admit that
the guy that looked intimidating to me in the beginning at the reception, ended
up being a whovian; that's probably the only person that smiled to me in that
hospital today. I mean people have good days and bad days. I can tell that the nurse
actually wanted to help. At least in the beginning. It’s not the underpaid
staff to blame. I know that.
I appreciate, respect, and admire the NHS staff. They endured
the pandemic madness, bless their cotton socks, and everything. Even before
covid. Respect to the NHS staff for sure. Nevertheless, if I wasn’t feeling so
loved by my partner, and my friends and family, I might be making the loudest
suicide-note-video now, so the system could realise that what happened today to
me is not ok. Should not be ok. Should never be meant to pass as ok. And, I
shouldn’t be threatened to leave if I continue this attitude. (Attitude:
commenting that I had an appointment an hour and a half ago, when I arrived on
time, and I’m told my appointment needs to be rebooked).
...
That was two days ago. It took me awhile to recover from
that mad experience, before I could tell you all that, my dear future
historian. I hope in your times, people don’t have to fight for a doctor for a painful
knee. This entry is mostly for my contemporaries, my dear future historian. All
of us that struggle to get access to what is supposed to be given freely to us.
What do I have to offer? Nothing much. Just my thoughts.
‘I have spread my thoughts under your feet; Tread softly
because you tread on my mind’.
I’ll keep you posted.
Stay safe and take care,
Lotous Michalopoulou
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