Between us my partner and I were in A&E FIVE times this week, and I walked out twice in disgust.
I was scheduled to have three daily infusions of 1g methylprednisolone. On Thursday I turned up as instructed at 9.15; the infusion started at 10.45! Why? Because the drugs weren’t ready!
The physio finally turned up at 11.15, just as the drip was finishing so I told her to get lost. More politely than that, but I said I’d been there 2 hours and I was leaving, she could come back tomorrow.
Then I had to correct the duty doctor’s prescription because she’d written down 30mg/d oral prednisolone to follow for 1 week, then 20mg/d, whereas I knew it should be 30mg/d, then 25mg/d, then 20mg. What hope a poor little befuddled old lady?
Plus when I went to pharmacy they of course immediately asked me what other drugs I was on. Now what’s that all about? I’ve just handed them a hospital prescription, written by a hospital doctor, authorised by a consultant. Do they not think any potential drug interactions have already been assessed? And, again, what hope does some poor little old feller, 90 squillion years old, deaf as a post and even dodderier have of even knowing what drugs he’s on, let alone the dosages?!
Friday morning went pretty well!
Saturday morning I turned up again at 9.15 to once more find the drugs weren’t ready. So I said, well, I can stay till 10.15, then I’m leaving. So at 10.30, with no drugs in sight, I removed my cannula and walked out, with them all flapping like mad and trying to persuade me to stay. I said they could explain to my consultant why I’d received 2/3 of the drugs I should have had!
So that’s one more letter of complaint to add to my growing list. Including how they ignored me for over an hour last Saturday night when I went in unable to draw breath because I was coughing so violently in an attempt to hawk up a gob of the gunk clogging my lung.
It’s desperate, isn’t it?
Him? Oh, he’d just been stooopid. Been nagging him for days to grit the drive. So, yep, he slips on the ice on the drive and splits his head open on the wall! Came home looking like a very forlorn Peter Pudsey.