Yes, I know, it's a day late. Chemo kicking in a bit.
Yesterday I spent 6 hours in a chemo-therapy chair for a two hour treatment. The reason being the new computer system in the hospital had thrown a wobbler. This meant my blood tests from 2 days ago were gone, so I had to have another prior to treatment.
This system has been in for three weeks, ‘The worst three weeks I’ve ever had in this job,’ the nurse told me. ‘Patients records, treatments, pharmacy notes just keep disappearing off the screen.’
Imagine how dangerous that could be in a chemo-therapy room.
Curious I asked if this new software was produced ‘in house’ at the NHS. ‘Oh no,’ she replied. ‘All that disappeared years ago. It’s bought in privately from an American company, but it seems incompatible with NHS ways of doing things.’
So after six hours (started prior to 1000 and finished just after 1600 hours) I was released back into the world.
Have no complaints about the staff or the treatment, they ran about like blue arsed flies and they all looked tired, if still good humoured …(I suspect medical humour is a bit like infantry humour. Dark, and a way to deal with it when things get rough.)
But, call me cynical if you like, I suspect this creeping privatization is mostly driven by brown envelopes being slid across the polished surfaces of meeting room tables. Somebody somewhere wants a bloody good kick up the arse. (Let's start at the top, and prune downwards for a change.)
OK, rant over. Put it down to chemo aftermath. (I still f****** mean it though.)