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Bureacracy
Following on from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beingjdc's post earlier, here are my recent experiences with bureacracy.
While trying to register with a local doctor yesterday, I had to show them my lease to prove that I lived in the right area, my passport to prove that I live in this country, my NHS card (fair enough) and then fill in a medical questionnaire (again fair enough - it takes months for your records to catch up with you). But having spend ten minutes or so completing this questionnaire I had to make an appointment with a health care assistant to register with the practice (isn't one available until 15th Sept) and they won't register me *until* that appointment. So the point of me sitting there filling in their questionnaire then and there was?
Oh and talking about that questionnaire - not only did it ask 'How long do you intend to remain in the UK' - well, err I *live* here you know, it asked 'First language', followed by 'Any English?' - how anyone who speaks no/limited English is supposed to even get that far on the form.....
And all of that's before we reach the family planning questions on the back - 'Which method of contraception do you use?' - Well I don't use any, but that's because I've never had sex - as I felt the need to write on the form. Saying you use no contraception *without* giving an explanation just looks bloody irresponsible.
Then when I got home, there was a letter from a firm of baliffs wanting to remove property belonging to a previous tenant for failing to pay her Council Tax, so I phoned them, explaining that said person doesn't live here anymore, that I do, and that the Council already know I live there - and so I have to send them a copy of my lease and of a utility bill.
beingjdc's post earlier, here are my recent experiences with bureacracy.While trying to register with a local doctor yesterday, I had to show them my lease to prove that I lived in the right area, my passport to prove that I live in this country, my NHS card (fair enough) and then fill in a medical questionnaire (again fair enough - it takes months for your records to catch up with you). But having spend ten minutes or so completing this questionnaire I had to make an appointment with a health care assistant to register with the practice (isn't one available until 15th Sept) and they won't register me *until* that appointment. So the point of me sitting there filling in their questionnaire then and there was?
Oh and talking about that questionnaire - not only did it ask 'How long do you intend to remain in the UK' - well, err I *live* here you know, it asked 'First language', followed by 'Any English?' - how anyone who speaks no/limited English is supposed to even get that far on the form.....
And all of that's before we reach the family planning questions on the back - 'Which method of contraception do you use?' - Well I don't use any, but that's because I've never had sex - as I felt the need to write on the form. Saying you use no contraception *without* giving an explanation just looks bloody irresponsible.
Then when I got home, there was a letter from a firm of baliffs wanting to remove property belonging to a previous tenant for failing to pay her Council Tax, so I phoned them, explaining that said person doesn't live here anymore, that I do, and that the Council already know I live there - and so I have to send them a copy of my lease and of a utility bill.
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Awww. I'm ashamed to admit I found that paragraph very funny!
When I've gone to see the doctors with a "female problem", they've often asked me the very coy question "do you have a boyfriend?" which infuriates me. If they want to know whether you're sexually active, they should just ask that. You can be sexually active and not have a boyfriend or sexually inactive and have a boyfriend. For that matter, I could have a girlfriend. Stupid, stupid, question.
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Hmm - it's all a question of balance, 'cos some people would get offended at the 'Are you sexually active?' question or indeed, not understand what it means. Though I see what you mean about the inaccuracy of the boyfried question too. I don't think there is a question that's guaranteed not to offend anyone and still give the doctor the info he needs.
I suppose I've been semi considering taking the pill for ages, to give me lighter periods (sorry, replace periods with withdrawal bleeds) (sorry, can't cut comments for a TMI alert, and I don't know how to use rot13 - apologies to anyone I've upset) but it doesn't really seem worthwhile - eg. having to remember to take a pill a day etc.
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Surely if you refused they couldn't just come barging in and remove stuff? Isn't it incumbent on them to verify who the occupier is and who the stuff belongs to?
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In any case, I'd be at work during the hours they're most likely to call, and I'd rather not go home to find they've made that kind of mistake - so I'll send them what they've asked for.
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But yeah, given the consequences even if it was their fault, I'd be inclined to jump through their hoops.
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Anyway the hoops haven't been so bad - now duely jumped through:-)
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Too right - nine months after I'd had my appendix whipped out (it was about to explode), my temporary GP hadn't sent my notes to my Cambridge GP. The subject came up in conversation about another medical problem altogether, and surprised the hell out of my usual GP.
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I lost my appendix at 15 - it started off like a 24 sickness bug thing, which didn't go away, I went to see a GP on the Wednesday, got sent to hospital - where they thought it was food poisioning for ages. It was only on the Saturday that they decided the initial diagnosis was right and that I did have appendicitis and took it out - and I was lucky they realised that when they did, 'cos they told me afterwards that I almost had peritonitis, which wouldn't have been pleasant. As it was I spent another two weeks in hospital after they'd taken it out, just recovering, 'cos I had lots of infections, so they kept on having to give me IV antibiotics.
At least with an appendectomy the scar is always in the same place, so were you really ill and unable to talk, all a doctor would have to do is examine you to find out about it.
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At first we'd thought it was just a case of poisoning, as I'd taken some new medication and we thought my body was just reacting badly. Then we thought it was gastric flu.
Then the pain really kicked in, and the GP thought if the pain were a little lower it would almost certainly be my appendix, but it wasn;t in quite the right place so we watched and waited. A few hours later the GP was sure it was appendicitis and packed me off to Casualty, where I was prodded some more (I remember the 5th doctor in a row prodding my abdomen in various places and asking "does that hurt? does that hurt?" and I just said, "Well, it all hurts!"
So I signed a release for an appendoctomy, although they were still puzzled about the location, and they said if it didn't turn out to be that, they would have to scan me to see if it was my ovaries. That freaked me a bit, and I still don't like having abdominal pains because I always think, "This time it's the ovaries."
The other upshot of my appendix being in the wrong place is that the "keyhole" they were supposed to remove the damn thing through got started at the point where most people's appendices are, and got enlarged until they found mine, some 2.5 inches further up! My appendoctomy scar does seem to be three times the size of anyone else's.
The thing that really bugged me was that I'd thrown up my last meal when the illness started, then they didn't let me have food or drink all day (then they stuck a tube down my dry throat and wondered why I had trouble breathing when I came round), then they didn't give me breakfast the next day and only gave me a bowl of soup in the afternoon, 48 hours after my last meal! How hungry was I?
From the initial suspiscion of appendicitis to whipping it out only took 12 hours in the end, and apparently "it wasn't pretty" when they removed it. They didn't let me keep it in a jar. My mother wanted to know if it really was caused by a cherry stone blocking the passage to the appendix; I didn't ask.
Oh, and because I had the operation in North Croydon, I got to chat in Hindi to all the nurses! ("Mat fikr karo," they said, "sab kuch thik ho jayega." And fortunately they were right.
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I started off being sick, and had a pain in my side, all through the Tuesday I carried on being sick till I had nothing left to be sick with - I even reached the point of throwing up bile. Not to mention that my other end was also suffering - what I was producing gives new meaning to the term 'loose stool'.
All of those symptoms are common to appendicitis, but I had them too severely! The same with my temperature - appendicitis normally gives you a slightly elevated temperature, not the really high temp I had. Once I was in hospital I had lots of doctors prodding me, and I wiggled around enough that I was in as little pain as I could manage - unfortunately *that* meant that the pain wasn't in quite the right place, and I also underestimated it when I was given one of those charts where you have to rate pain on a 1-10 scale. I was isolated in hospital because I was continuing to vomit/produce liquid stools. My symptoms were just too extreme for appendicitis!
I also remember feeling kind of guilty about being in hospital - rationalising that I had felt much worse when I'd had 'flu.
They took it out on the Saturday evening, and I remember waking up and being told I had drains in me - I didn't understand, and was really groggy from the anasethetic so couldn't form the words to ask the question (that was my first experience with a general anasethetic and I didn't really like it). After my operation they gave me lots of painkillers - pethadine is *good* - except that nobody bothered to tell me it'd make me sleepy.
I didn't get to keep mine either:-( The worse part of it all was having to be taught how to sit up (because of the state mine was in, I have a 9cm scar) and the learning how to walk again. Till you don't have them, you don't know how useful those muscles in your stomach are!
I didn't get fed anything until the Monday/Tuesday after my operation - but I was on a glucose/saline drip much of the time so that I didn't really feel hungry. I did develop hot chocolate cravings and they wouldn't give me any - 'cos it would have made me sick.
Being only 15 at the time and not as assertive as I am now, I got very frustrated at not being able to get a straight answer out of the doctors/nurses when I asked them questions. I was also far too cautious about asking questions - when a doctor first told me that I needed a drip my eyes went wide/I looked frightened - the thought going through my mind was 'I'm not really *that* ill am I? Why do I need one?' and instead of actually asking that question I said nothing and he assumed that I didn't like needles.
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I didn't especially feel guilty, but they put me on a ward with serious cancer patients, at least one of whom frequently voiced her dislike of people like me who just pop in and out of the ward once fixed up. I can kind of see why that was upsetting for her (and, er, for me hearing that regularly!) - think there's a lot of logic to having separate cancer wards. I did worry to myself that she was going to hobble over in the night and smother me with a hospital pillow....
pethadine is *good*
Yay pethadine!
except that nobody bothered to tell me it'd make me sleepy.
The day after my actual operation, when the anaesthetic was still wearing off (you're quite right, it *is* horrid. It's basically poison that doesn't quite kill you), and I was smacked up on painkillers, and I'd had my stomach slit in half, I was resting up in bed half-asleep; and one of the bitch nurses came around and put her hands on her hips and said in a remonstrary tone, "Oh, Lise, you love your bed, don't you?" Well, surprisingly enough, yes!
Till you don't have them, you don't know how useful those muscles in your stomach are!
Too right! I had some back pain as a reslut of not being able to physically support my spine; and hey, aren't those muscles useful for going to the toilet?
I had a particular necessity to get mine back into shape - I went to South India to a residential dance school six weeks after the op. (When I came round and the consultant came to check on me, my first two questions were "When can I fly?" and "When can I dance?" Although there was a specific reason that time, I guess they would probably have been my first questions anyway.)
when a doctor first told me that I needed a drip ... 'I'm not really *that* ill am I?'
Drips are fairly standard first-line treatment for a lot of things I get quite often! I'm quite drip-savvy these days. It usually just means they want to hydrate you and balance your electrolytes, probably while you're Nil by Mouth. But yeah, they could have taken the trouble to tll you that!
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I was on the children's ward - which isn't so bad as it sounds. There were three different rooms - one for younger children, and then one for male teenagers, and then the one I was in - well that's apart from the Wed-Sun I spent in isolation in the Penguin Room. At least there, everyone was going to get better, and most were quite happy - unlike what I've heard about adult wards which are supposedly quite depressing places to be. My sister was six at the time, and me being on that ward meant she could go round to the play room, when she'd had enough of talking to me:-) They routinely hand out 'magic cream', before they stick canulae in you - I don't mind needles, but if there's anasethetic available, you'd be silly not to take advantage. The nurses were also much better at protecting us from Evil Doctors who want to do things like rectal exams; there were a couple of points when they were quite close to wanting to do that to me, but were persuaded not to do so. I don't imagine it's really *that* unpleasant, but I was still glad not to have to have one. (The same way I'm very glad I've avoided cervical smears so far - when I need one, I'll be good and go along, but the thought just makes me want to cross my legs very firmly!)
Yay pethadine!
And horrible doctors who use really sticky dressings. I'm told I had a really sticky J-cloth like dressing over the wound when I came out of theatre, which became saturated with the fluid coming out of the drains, and they had to take it off that night - I'm told I screamed at them as they did that. The following morning I took the rest of it off myself, having been given some pethadine. After my however long of having to have that dressing changed each day, and it working better on some days than on others, I've always worked on the principle that whoever has to wear the dressing gets to decide how it should be put on. I don't like sticky (zinc oxide) tape or sticky dressings on my skin - but they're much much better at holding things in place than micropore tape.
hey, aren't those muscles useful for going to the toilet?
Strange the things no one bothers to tell you! I was being made to drink lots and lots from the morning after my operation which just ran straight through me - because I was still on a drip. I had my appendix removed at the end of June, and went to Guide camp a month later, which was hard - it was within the six weeks where I wasn't supposed to lift anything heavy, and it's really hard to camp and not have to lift things. I also remember the wound being really, really itchy and having to resort to knitting to give me something to do with my hands to stop me scratching it!
Drips are fairly standard first-line treatment...
Yeah, they are - particularly when someone has been losing fluids the way I had, but I didn't know that at the time, and couldn't find the words to ask the question. Oh well, I'm older and wiser now;-) As I recall, I had a two bags of sodium followed by a bag of glucose, supplemented from time to time with intravenous antibiotics. They also make life quite difficult - remember trying to change your clothes with one in your arm? And they fall out of veins - I had so many in over the two and a half weeks that they ran out of veins in my hand and had to put one on the inside of my elbow - and while it's not painful, it's just awkward.