I truly feel for the staff of the NHS. They must have to listen to everybody and their aunt wielding their wild theories about the UK health service. If I was given a pound each time I heard someone say, “The NHS is broken,” I could probably afford a couple more hours of heating at home!
As I type we are back in hospital with Nell. It’s a position we’ve been in with her many times; and it’s our second trip here in the last week (Reuben visited A&E last weekend). We are here because her asthma is playing up and she’s had a horrific cough for the last month. Sleepless night after sleepless night, her violent coughing has failed to shift it. When she was admitted an x-ray showed inflammation and she spent last night on oxygen and steroids with some antibiotics, magnesium and potassium thrown in for good measure. This morning she’s had physio to clear the mucus from her chest and we are now hoping we can go home this evening.
But did we need to be here in the first place? Yes she needed to be seen, but if I’d got her looked at earlier, perhaps she wouldn’t have needed as much intervention as she has had.
So why didn’t I?
NHS guilt.
From the press, and the mouths of the people around me, I hear that the NHS is under pressure, and why? “Because of time wasters.” Consequently, I’m terrified to join those ranks. I don’t want to be a paranoid mother, the hypochondriac at the front of the queue, jeered at by the genuinely sick people.
Like many, I’ve been brought up to trust medical professionals. They are the experts, not me. If I ask them to look at my daughter’s chest and they don’t deem it a priority to do so, it’s ingrained in me to accept that. My anxiety has been further fuelled by a few uncomfortable experiences at my GP (when I had Nell’s chest checked as a baby, and was made to feel I was a hysterical mother), so you can start to see why I would shy away from being too demanding . At least until the need for help is obviously unavoidable.
Never was this more clear than 18 months ago, when I called my surgery, telling them my daughter, who had recently had a chest infection, was struggling to breathe. They didn’t want to see her but prescribed antibiotics over the phone. Thankfully we own an oximeter and took her for a second opinion after seeing her O2 drop into the 80s. That time she ended up being treated for sepsis. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life, but I thought it was a one off.
Then last week Reuben got sick. I messaged the doctor in the afternoon. No luck, no appointments. He got worse so we took him to A&E. When we arrived, he showed high infection markers and needed antibiotics. I was not wrong to take him in, yet I still found myself apologising to everyone we saw.
While Reuben was in hospital, Nell stayed with a friend. I asked her for an honest opinion and she suggested we needed to have Nell’s chest seen, yet I was reluctant. She had been coughing for weeks, but that’s a pattern for her. I just felt if I asked the doctor to see her, they would say no. I had arranged an asthma review the week before but the nurse didn’t listen to her chest, and while she commented on her ‘nasty cough’, she didn’t seem unduly concerned. So why was I? Was I being over the top?
Two days later, I noticed she was off her food and had lost some weight. I gave in and decided it was time to try. The lines opened at 8am I set my alarm and fired off our appointment request within seconds of the timer ticking over. An hour later I heard back.
Dear parent/guardian of Eleanor,
Thank you for your message. We have saved the details to your records for the GP to see. You will need to call the surgery from 8am any week day to get on the GP telephone list to discuss.
Unfortunately all the appointments/phone calls have gone for today. If you feel it’s urgent for today you can call 111 or go to an urgent treatment centre.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t take her to A&E for a cough! (And this is what I mean…because, of course I could! I just felt that I shouldn’t). Instead I contacted a friend in the medical profession and asked her to have a listen. She did and recommended that she be seen soon. We could have run the risk of trying the GP at 8am the next day, but the chances were that we would receive the same response. There was only one option available. Still, I wasn’t sure…“It’s just a cough….” But I agreed and Husband took her in about 6pm. And that’s where we are now.
Since she arrived, not one person has said: “It’s just a cough“
And that brings me back round to my point. How sick is sick enough? Why, as parents, do we feel terrible every time we need help for our child. Is it because we think we are time wasters? Or because we know that the likely response from the GP will be “try again at 8am tomorrow”. It’s a scary situation to be in and I now feel awful that I waited so long. What if NHS guilt had caused me to avoid seeking help beyond the stage where help was available?
I love the NHS. I love it and the people that work for it. I support the strikes…but I don’t know the answer. I don’t want it to be broken. But I also want to feel comfortable asking to use its services. It’s that challenge I fear will be difficult to overcome.
On the plus side, Nell has received amazing care here. She’s got her famous appetite back and is smiling. She’s had a trampoline to bounce on (for physio) and, she tells me, lots of toys to play with. After years of me fighting the system for help, she’s got a paediatric referral and I’ve finally heard someone agree that this was a bad asthma event. I wasn’t going mad. She does have asthma..it’s not me with Munchausen By Proxy. Maybe next time I’ll feel more confident in demanding help? I hope so, but already I know that it’s not always that easy.
The Honest Parent 