Genuine NHS Dentist?

 

Genuine NHS Dentist

 

I’m just wondering if there is such a thing, in Harrogate, as a Dentist offering a real service for NHS clients.

 

Having been with my current practice since the 1990’s the situation is that I had a routine inspection on 11 July this year when the dentist found I needed three fillings, in some cases repairs to previously filled teeth. The earliest appointment they could offer was 11 October. Exactly three months on from the examination. Two months after this appointment was made I received a phone call, from the dental practice, informing me that, as the dentist would be away ar the time my appointment was due, it would have to be rearranged for 10 December (five months after the inspection).

 

In the meantime I have experienced shards of enamel breaking from both front and back of one of the teeth that required attention. The practice who are supposedly proffering a dental service for me, at present , are North Park Dental Practice.

Of Beatification - Massacre of the Innocents - and the Beeb

OF BEATIFICATION, MASSACRE of the INNOCENTS, and the BEEB

It cannot have escaped the attention of even the most casual listener to BBC Radio 2, in the course of the last 24 hours, that a process of beatification is well under way for Pudsey’s primary accomplice. Of course the way has to be carefully prepared for subsequent canonisation of the noble knight.

Every news bulletin reader, continuity announcer and programme presenter was contractually obliged to “Go Tel(l) it on the Mountain” that Terry’s woes have gone.

Each pre-recorded programme, broadcast yesterday, was preceded by a pre-emptive apology that their presenter, and production team, lacked foreknowledge of Sir Terry’s passing before the shows’ due transmission date.

Meanwhile, the slaughter of innocents (some of which is ejaculatorily supported by our own dear government ministers) continues unabated around the globe whilst, at home, the Tories persecution of society’s most vulnerable old, young, poor, sick and/or disabled, alongside their dismantling of the NHS, continues apace, only to pass unacknowledged by the Beeb’s department of navel-gazing news and current affairs.

RIP Sir Terry. RIP the welfare state’s compassion and humanitarian concern. RIP decency at the heart of Government. 

once more to the land of A&E

Yesterday morning I was feeling a little more shattered than is my norm but, I managed to remove myself from the duvet lair by 11.30. A brief bout of surfing the web provoked no enthusiasm so, I settled for applying Windows Update to sundry machines whilst listening to something or other on the radio.

Early afternoon, when ma belle and Beth had returned from a mini shopping spree, I prepared a griddled salmon, peppers and mushroom stir fry served with jacket potatoes but, during this (none too taxing) food preparation I began to feel a bit more jaded than usual, even becoming a little stressed.

At about 16.00hrs, I walked with ma belle to collect a prescription from my GP practice, approximately five minutes walking time; I found myself struggling to keep pace with Helen and, apart from aching lower limbs, I became a little breathless. Having collected the prescription the next phase was to drop it into the pharmacist whilst we went to the café a couple of doors along.

That’s when things began to fall apart; even the few yards walk seemed a daunting task as giddiness, breathlessness and a tight constricting sensation in chest and abdomen took control. My beloved took me back into the pharmacists where I found a seat and was proffered a glass of water. An overwhelming cloying discomfort through head, torso and limbs, briefly took control before I began to feel more settled. Meantime, ma belle chauffeuse had brought the car around to the pharmacy to run me back home.

This being the second time in a few days when I’ve experienced such un-nerving symptoms, it seemed a good idea to try to fix an appointment with one of the GPs in my practice. A doctor spoke to me, and ma belle, over the ‘phone and, he thought it imperative that I went down to A&E at the District Hospital.

I was really impressed by the efficiency and thoroughness of clerks, nurses and doctor in the department. I was sent through for initial assessment, BP check etc., within ten minutes of reporting at reception and was wired up for an ECG within thirty minutes. The doctor who examined me was extremely thorough, imbuing me with some much needed confidence, as he sounded out my chest and painstakingly examined the whole abdominal region. He inserted a canula in my arm in preparation for taking several phials of blood for testing, and then requested a urine sample.

The GP, who had suggested I attend A&E, had already checked with the department that I’d arrived and enquired how I was. My blood pressure was rather high (high blood pressure seems to be trending with me these days), even the diastolic had gone soaring, the first couple of times it was checked. Later, my blood pressure was checked again, this time in both supine and standing positions.

Once blood test results had been obtained the doctor returned and re-examined my abdominal region. As the blood tests were all clear he prepared me for discharge but, I then had to wait for some antibiotics to be dispensed as the urine sample had shown up an infection. Once again I must express my gratitude for a wonderful NHS and hope, campaign, and pray that the Tory plans to destroy it can be de-railed.

This morning, shortly after 9.00am, my GP rang me to see how I was. With such concern being shown, I am more than ever convinced that my transferring to the neighbourhood doctors’ surgery, from the one I’d been with since the 1970s, was totally fortuitous.

Watching My Back

I'm still waiting, albeit impatiently, to find a more regular pattern of sleep; needless to say, such a pattern has not yet emerged. After Monday night's peculiarly refreshing sleep, Tuesday night reverted to the more familiar restlessness; emerging before 10.00am to take a shower on Wednesday, both morning and afternoon necessitated intermittent little naps. By the evening I started to feel a little more awake; not a good sign. Come Thursday morning I was still in the throes of sleep when ma belle ventured off to work (around 7.30am), finally emerging into the new day a few minutes before noon.

And then the cycle repeats, Thursday's late emergence led on to a further night of intermittent sleep, although I did manage to remove myself from the duvet lair around 11.15am on Friday morning and, I then seemed to spend most of the day in an half alert state of being.

Retired to bed at about 10.20pm on Friday evening and then gradually stumbled into a waking state some time after 10.00am Saturday morning. Early in the afternoon I went out into the garden to take a few macro shots, of bees on globe thistles etc., but started feeling a sense of giddyness which persuaded me to go back in the house. Some twenty minutes later I started to have throbbing shooting pains, down my left arm, exceeding the all too familiar aching discomfort of the wrist which is my regular companion!

So, it's panic stations (for me and ma belle) as we head off to the District Hospital when the throbbing pain shows little sign of abating. The good sign is that I'm becoming rather flushed rather than going pale but, we're totally puzzled / worried about this temporarily excruciating addition to my catalogue of ailments. The first nurse who sees me, after about 40 minutes, makes a few notes and checks my temperature and blood pressure, the latter unusually high by my standards, before I return to the waiting area.

After a further 90minutes, or so, I'm called into an examination room where an ECG is administered; at least my heart seems to be OK and, by this time the pain had subsided considerably. A further 40 - 50 minutes later a Romanian doctor comes in and, having sounded my chest and back, and a little chat about Romanian wines, she carries out a few tests on the reactions of my arms and hands to touch. She duly notes an abnormal contraction response in my left bicep before examining the top part a of my spine. Once again as she touches a certain point relatively high on the spine, a quite painful shooting throb goes through my left arm. She notes a degree of misalignment of the spine and thinks that, together with the herniated disc in the lumbar region, could account for much of the pain and discomfort I've been experiencing. As she puts it, I'm sorry to tell you it's a back problem.

An evening in which I took anti-inflammatories alongside a couple of tramadol, and a preparatory mirtazapine, still managed to lead to a night of restless intermittent discomfort rather than a good nights sleep. Today has seen me swaddled in both shoulder and wrist supports as I tackled both dinner preparation and subsequent light gardening chores. Both wrists are currently screaming abuse at me, so once more I resort to ibuprofen, tramadol and, hoping against hope that the mirtazapine will have the necessary sedative effect.

Procedural Matters

Three days after cancelling, and rearranging, the hastily appointed barium enema, I received a letter from a consultant in the endoscopy department to say that they would shortly be arranging an appointment for this procedure. This epistle was dated 12 May but postmarked (second class) 19 May; my bewilderment / dismay at the too short notice received for the initial appointment may have been compounded by the fact that I was not aware at that time that any such appointment was being arranged.

Anyway, I’m pleased to report that the barium enema / X-ray procedure went without a hitch, even though it’s a long time since my recumbent (though not necessarily in total comfort) torso had to undergo so many postural changes in such a restricted (30+ minutes) period of time. (The exercise must have done me good!). Procedure completed, how wonderful it was for this hollow stomached being to return home, and ravenously devour a banana whilst awaiting the due sizzle time for the subsequent bacon butty; my previous solid food intake had been shortly after noon the previous day.

That gets me on to thinking about the privileged life I lead. Whilst so many in the world lack a roof over their head, access to a ready supply of drinking water and food in their belly, I can eat and drink at whatever moment suits my whim. I adore, and am adored by, my beloved wife, companion and lover Helen and, have two wonderful step-daughters. As long as we stand firm against the Tory / Lansley menace, future generations will also have the opportunity to access the same freely available National Health Service, not at all dependent upon one’s ability to pay, whose services are very much appreciated (despite minor glitches) by yours truly!

Only here to serve ... and cause upset

Much as I love, and am determined to defend, the NHS it does seem to have a recent record of setting out to upset me. After the last minute arrangements for (and subsequent abortive attempt at) my colonoscopy, a similar last minute arrangement has been made for me with radiology for a barium enema.

This morning having just emerged from the duvet realm at around 11.30am, I opened a small package from the District Hospital informing me of an appointment at 8.50am tomorrow. Of course the preparatory evacuant was to have been taken at 8.00am and then between 2.00 and 4.00pm today. I duly 'phoned the hospital to say that I would be unable to attend but they said that if I forego my lunch I could take the first dose of the preparation right away and, I could take the second dose at 5.00pm!

No sooner had I put the 'phone down than the realization struck home that as I'd not yet had breakfast and, the lunch that I'd have to forego was also the last food permitted until after the treatment; I wouldn't have had any food since teatime yesterday until after the procedure tomorrow! Once more I picked up the 'phone to ring back and cancel the appointment; at this point I became a stuttering, stammerring, tear drenched wreck!

When my beloved returned from taken a little service at the local Methodist Homes for the Aged, she rang the hospital to re-arrange my appointment for one weeks time.

I have only just noticed that the appointment letter was dated 13 May 2011 but the envelope postmarked (franked by the hospital) 17 May 2011 - this delay accounts for the 'actual' last minute / too late notification! Perhaps ConDem induced staff cuts could be held responsible for this lapse in communication.

An Unexpected Turn

 

Sometimes events take a turn far removed from the familiar; today was such a case. This morning I managed to get myself down to ‘Open Church’, for the first time since my pre-Christmas collapse there. Wrapped up in a warm overcoat and armed with an umbrella I boldly strode my way and, once there enjoyed some really stimulating conversation.

On my way back home I called in at the bakers to collect the wholemeal loaf so, there I was, open umbrella held in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, heading for home when my mobile begins to ring. To be honest, this was one of very few occasions that I’d bothered to switch it on; I’ve never understood the necessity of holding telephonic conversations whilst ambling down the road. It was quite a juggling act to transfer the instrument from coat pocket to the proximity of my ear, encumbered as I was.

The voice at the other end, my elder step-daughter Beth, tells me that she doesn’t want to worry me but my beloved has been rushed to hospital. She’d apparently been taken ill whilst at the dentists. I knew that she was going to try to make an appointment, having been woken in the night with really painful toothache from an area where she’d lost a filling about a week ago. Although quite wiped out, energy-wise, she’d travelled over to her work in Wetherby, early this morning, where I subsequently discovered, she’d already begun to feel sick before arranging the appointment with her dentist back in Harrogate. The dentist had taken an x-Ray, and informed her that she would need a course of antibiotics to tackle an abscess, before she came over really ill.

Beth picked me up and ran me to the hospital where I found an atypically flush faced and cold-handed Helen. Her blood pressure had sky rocketed, once again very unusual for ma belle who traditionally has a remarkably (but healthily) low BP. Fortunately the ECG results showed no cause for concern and sundry blood samples were taken before she was sent for an X-Ray of the jaw. Whilst I waited with ma belle, Beth, with assistance from Cathy’s partner Ken, was able to get into town to collect her Mum’s car and deliver it back home for us. As a non-driver, I was of little use in these circumstances. Helen subsequently saw a consultant in the Maxillo Facial Surgery who made a few incisions and prescribed two lots of antibiotics.  

On several occasions, in the past couple of years, ma belle has had to come and hold my hand in A&E; today the tables were turned. I so frequently worry about the burden my ill health imposes upon my beloved, realizing how mutually dependent we are; today my concern was how helpless I may be if the burden of care shifted the other way. It was so fortuitous that Beth happened to have some holiday days this week and so, was available to perform such a valuable chauffeuring and messaging duties.

Once again I must express my gratitude to the NHS, especially the staff in A&E at Harrogate District Hospital. I only wish that the Health Service was in safer hands than those of the Tory ConDem coalition.

Much Ado About Something

There's nothing quite so rewarding as a good burp! At least following on from today's gastroscopy, during which some air is pumped into the intestines, it felt really good to expel some of the excess via the facial orifice. Mind you, as time went by, I did also find that other orifices helped alleviate some of the pressure.

I decided against having the sedative injection, wondering if it may adversely react with my M.E. sensitivities, whilst simultaneously wondering whether I would be sufficiently relaxed to perform the appropriate co-ordination of swallowing and nasal breathing, if I didn't have it. The wonderful thing is that I was ready to go home within a few minutes of the op having been performed and, able to eat and drink normally one hour after the throat spray anaesthetic had been administered.

Apart from one or two involuntary gagging responses, as the camera was manouevred around, the experience wasn't too bad at all. The exploration didn't disclose any abnormalities but, a biopsy from the stomach was taken to find out if there's any kind of bacterial infection.

It seems quite strange to me that one can experience so many spasmodic intensely discomforting / disconcerting symptoms for which further exploration is unable to find a cause. I am so grateful for the National Health Service that I, and countless others, are able to undergo these procedures without having to worry about whether their bank balance will permit such activities to take place.

And today it's dermatology

I seem to be a quite regular client of the NHS these days, what with visits to A&E, overnight stays in hospital, various appointments with my GP, visits from the physio to administer acupuncture. What a privilege it is to have this wonderful service; one can only trust that the service will be protected / preserved from the worst ravages the ConDems hope to commit upon it.

Just 12 days ago my GP referred me to the Dermatology clinic which I visited this afternoon. The consultant immediately diagnosed a rodent ulcer (basal cell carcinoma) and is arranging for it to be excised, under local anaesthetic, sometime in the next four weeks. Meanwhile he has prescribed a steroidal cream to be applied to an inflamed area on my back surrounding the ulcer. I find it truly impressive the speed at which arrangements are falling in to place; the National Health Service, freely available to all, and so easily taken for granted, is a gem to be cherished and protected.