Thanks again NHS. We’ve all heard the stories, and perhaps many of us have lived them. The NHS, a service we deeply cherish, is often stretched to its limits. My recent experience in A&E was a stark reminder of this reality, a long day that turned into a marathon wait, but also a testament to the incredible people who work within it.
It was Wednesday morning when an unexpected and increasingly worrying pain in my hip area made itself known again. After trying to manage it at home for a few days, with it coming and going, it became clear that a trip to A&E would be sensible. The decision itself is always a bit daunting, knowing the pressures the department faces and the possible long waits.
The Decision Was Made.
My big sis drove me the 20 something miles to my preferred A&E. I got dropped off and made my way to the first part of the queue in ED (Emergency Department). Upon arrival, the waiting room was, as expected, bustling. A symphony of coughs, murmurs, and the occasional cry filled the air. I checked in. After a short time, I explained my symptoms to the triage nurse – a calm and reassuring presence amidst the chaos – and settled in for what I knew would be a wait. My book, my phone, and a rapidly dwindling charge to keep me occupied. I was pleased when I was triaged in 15 minutes and it was decided I needed a hip X-Ray. I made my way happily to the next part of the queue in the main A&E department.
The Wait Begins.
Hour one passed, then two. I watched as people came and went, some whisked away quickly, others looking as resigned as I felt. The pain, while niggling away at me, was a constant, dull throb that made comfort elusive. I tried to distract myself, listening to snippets of conversations around me, each telling their own story of worry and hope, and trying to keep engaged in my fantastic book I had taken along with me.
As the hours stretched into what felt like an eternity, I began to notice the small, yet significant, interactions happening around me. The nurses, despite clearly being under immense pressure, moved with a quiet efficiency. They answered the same questions over and over with a patience that seemed boundless ‘You are still in the queue but other people need to take priority depending on their condition‘.
Some People.
Around hour six, a guy came out of the Gents with two empty beer bottles and a Jason mask (form the Halloween Movie). He shouted ‘look what I found here, looks like something was going to Kick Off. I’ve saved you lot’. Turning to reception he continued, ‘call security, somethings going to kick off, this ain’t right’. After being ignored by reception and stomping over. He gave them a mouthful of abuse and walked back to the Gents toilet door and prevented anyone entering, telling them there was a security risk. Two security guards arrived after what seemed like an age and took him off to one side. Staff carried on rushing about in their jobs, and people waiting all carried on waiting – some in pain, some with cannulas in and some dozing.
And Were Off.
Finally, after what felt like an entire shift in itself – about eight hours – my name was called. I was seen by a doctor who, despite the hour and undoubtedly a long shift, looked at my hip, and told me he didn’t think it was broken and he’d arrange an X-Ray to be sure, and I’ll be out of here in half an hour. Great I thought and he escorted me to the A&E X-Ray department.
But No!
Arriving at the small window of X-Ray reception, only to be told they would not X-Ray me if I was not on a trolley. I stressed I have good upper body strength, can transfer independently and would take full responsibility if anything went wrong. But, alas, no, they would not X-Ray me unless I was on a trolley. The Dr escorted me back to a waiting corridor and told me to wait. He then passed me with his jacket on. I called him and asked if he was off, and he said he was and someone would ‘sort me out’. My heart sank.
After the excitement and expectation I might nearly be set free, the book came back out and time ticked slowly by. I was in a different area but the same questions from patients came being asked about their position in the queue.
Searching for a Red Trolley.
Buried deep in my book, Ben Hope, the hero, was rescuing himself and a companion form a burning Chateau in the South of France when a new Dr approached me, and said ‘he was looking for a red trolley’. They had some, but he didn’t know where a free one was and he would get me on it as quickly as they could. I went back to my book wondering what was so special about a red trolley.
Finally, only a few chapters from the end, the same Dr disturbed my distracted reading to tell me he’d found one and to follow him. We got the the X-Ray area and there was a red trolley outside one of the X-Ray department doors. The door opened and a Radiologist asked what we were doing, as they were closing this X-Ray room to go to another somewhere deep inside the hospital – not near A&E. My heart sank again for the second time. Dreading more waiting.
Puppy Dog Eyes.
The Dr explained what I needed and how long I’d been waiting. I looked at the now two Radiologists with the best puppy dog eyes I could muster. Hoping, pleading they would let me in.
Thankfully they did. Thanks again NHS.
I did a split level transfer and got myself on the red trolley. They took several pictures from different angels. The Dr looked at each one (albeit quickly I thought) and confirmed there was no damage to the bones. I got off the red trolley, back into my wheelchair, and we all left the X-Ray room. The Radiologist went one way and I waited outside to ask the Dr what the pain and discomfort I could feel was (considering I’m T4 complete SCI). He said soft tissue damage.
Time to Get Out of Here.
Can I go then, I asked. He said ‘yes‘, that’s fine. We fist bumped. I thanked him, left the manic A&E department, passing people that were still waiting, and called for a lift home. Thanks again NHS
Heading Home.
So, thanks again NHS. Leaving the hospital it was dark and raining. I felt a mix of exhaustion and profound gratitude. Yes, the wait was long, undeniably challenging, and a clear indicator of the systemic issues our NHS faces. But what stood out, even more, was the unwavering dedication of the staff. From the triage nurse to the healthcare assistants, the doctors, and the porters – every single person was working tirelessly, often with a smile, to care for a constant stream of patients.
My 10-hour wait in A&E was a vivid illustration of the challenges facing our National Health Service. But it was also a powerful reminder of the extraordinary individuals who keep it going, day in and day out, with a compassion that shines, even in the most demanding circumstances. We need to support them, and our NHS, more than ever.
Oh, and a reminder to me. Don’t fall out of my wheelchair!
Thanks again NHS
As an experienced wheelchair user, and a teacher of wheelchair skills for over 20 years. I hope this blog provides some clarification, that you cannot be 100% safe, all the time. My fall was unexpected and related to a undulating path.
