Read it and Weep

You may have read earlier blogs this year when Gertie, my beloved gall-bladder, was (to mis-quote Macbeth) from his father's abdominal cavity untimely ripped. At the time, I was perhaps a tad harsh on our health system when I rashly (and possibly cynically) intimated that 5 admissions to get the job done was arguably not over-efficient. I may have drawn parallels between the service I got then to the time when, as a valued employee, I was a recipient of private health insurance. I say 'may have' as I lack the courage to re-read those particular blogs in case I get bitter and twisted about the residual scar left by the machete-wielding psychopath whom the Dept. of Health & Mutilation let loose on my body.

The last thing I want to do is go on and on and on about the vicious slash marks left on my poor, abused physique. Not the small laparoscopic blemish left on any other recipient of a cholecystectomy - oh no, MY surgical cicatrice was so big Lloyd frigging Grossman could have gone through the keyhole! Anyway, I'm certainly not going to think about it any more although, between you and me, I am considering a personal injury claim. I've heard tell of some reformed prostitutes who have taken legal training and opened up an injury claims helpline specifically for cases such as mine - they're called the ScarPhone Whorehouse!

Recently, I have been reintroduced to the joys of private medicine as the NHS decided to shorten their wating list by offering Mrs B a replacement knee at the local private Nuffield Hospital. When we heard, I rather spoiled the pleasure of this medical equivalent of a flight upgrade by pointing out it would normally cost an arm and a leg - hmmm, not the best phrase to use perhaps? Anyway, the pre-operation ...........sorry, I mean pre-procedure assessment (bloody Americanisms!) was all dealt with on time and with numerous offers to help ourselves to tea or coffee The following week, Mrs B was ensconced in a private room with excellent catering, the operat......procedure was carried out and and it was all rather nice.

Now, to the nub of the matter. We have all sat in a GP's surgery waiting for the obligatory 48 minute delay before those 30 precious seconds where we are finally allowed into the presence of this scion of pharmacalogical expertise.

I'm pretty sure that I am not alone insofar as I spend a lot of that waiting time rehearsing exactly what I want to say; the symptoms and how they present themselves, all beautifully succinct and word perfect until we step into the inner sanctum where it all goes tits up and I lamely stand there and say "Erm, I'm OK really Doc. Dunno why I'm here really' whilst casting covetous glances at all the drug company freebies adorning the room. The reasons for that frantic rehearsal are not necessarily all because of my desire to appear organised and efficient but also due, in part, to the reading matter strewn around the waiting room.

Being an optimistic soul, I always hope that there might actually be something worthwhile to read rather than Peoples Friend circa July 2005 or the many and varied leaflets and booklets which are designed to help me cope with stopping smoking, glaucoma , excess wind, living with fungal nail infections etc. I remember once finding a National Geographic magazine with some wonderful pictures of the Gobi Desert and I still make a beeline for any National Geographics which surface in these slowly mutating piles in the hope of discovering it once more. On the whole though, I sit back defeated and listen to the glorious CD of Songs from the Shows which plays constantly through the sound system, punctuated occasionally by the guffaws of the lucky bastard who's found the one and only Reader's Digest and its 'Laughter - the best medicine' page.


Of course, it's all different at the Nuffield. Glossy magazines extolling the virtues of the Caribbean, current OK magazine, the day's newspapers, The Tatler, Golf World - all arranged neatly on occasional tables around the various waiting rooms. You can tell it's posh there because, by the end of the day, they haven't been nicked and the sudoku has been completed by fountain pen.

That's the real difference between NHS and the private sector. Forget the waiting times, ignore the MRSA infected wards - it's all down to the quality of the reading matter. Get a subscription to Horse and Hound in every hospital and the whole thing's solved - easy!

Incidentally, the inspiration behind this blog was due to a visit to a 'foreign' GP surgery this morning as Mrs B had to have a retinopathy test. As I sat down in the portakabin, I pondered on the difference of standards between there and the Nuffield but was gratified to see 2 extremely glossy magazines sitting there invitingly. Perhaps things weren't so bad after all, I thought as I made myself comfortable and tried to decide between............ WeightWatchers magazine or Pregnancy & Birth! Ho hum.