I went for the CT scan at St James’s this morning, driving the 26 miles from Hebden Bridge in rush hour traffic to get there for 10am. When I’d been waiting for nearly 20 minutes, one of the technicians came out and told me that as I’d had this test in Halifax on the 5th June my consultant (Mr P) had cancelled it! The consultant’s secretary said she had told me of this when she’d phoned me to arrange my appointment with him (all part of my falling through the two hospital’s cracks saga) but she hadn’t. I wouldn’t have forgotten something as important as not having to go all the way to Leeds when I didn’t have to.
In the past week I had actually asked one of the stoma nurses at Halifax who’d phoned me up with my appointment with the oncologist next month if I actually needed to go for this test as I’d had the same one earlier this month. She’d assured me that I ought to go because the consultant at Leeds was maybe accustomed to the interpretations of his own radiographer. Yesterday I asked the registrar at Calderdale Royal the same question. Did I really need to go to Leeds to have the same test I’d had in Halifax only a couple of weeks ago? He also urged me to keep the appointment.
But today the appointment was cancelled without anyone thinking to tell me either by letter, phone or email. The technician explained, “It’s not a good idea because there are some risks associated with the injection we give you and it would be subjecting you to unnecessary radiation.” Which is what I’d thought in the first place and when I’d sought medical opinion had been told to go anyway!
Chris had gone off for what he’d thought was going to be a couple of hours in Leeds whilst I was having the test. I went off to the cafe and cried. I felt like such an idiot crying in public but I felt completely worthless as if I just don’t count. No-one could be bothered to either notify me of a change or give me the correct information when I’d actually asked the question. And then to be told it was my mistake. That I’d been told on the phone when I knew I hadn’t! To be honest it makes me feel like giving up.
I eventually got in touch with Chris who returned to the hospital straightaway. We decided to go and see the consultant’s secretary to express our concerns and see what we could sort out. We went to the wing where we knew his clinic was but could see no notices as to its actual location. No one was on reception so we were directed via a notice back to the wing we’d already walked from to seek help.
We tried to get directions out of a man behind the reception desk who really hadn’t the first clue about how to direct people. He couldn’t have directed us up the region of his own arsehole. We kept trying and failing to get more specific directions out of him because he kept saying things like, “Then you go through an entrance,” to which Chris would reply, “Which entrance, there are several?” or “To the right or to the left?” At which point the man looked at him as if he were slightly dotty because everyone knows where the Lincoln Wing is, don’t they?
I began to understand why men don’t ask other men for directions if this is the response they get:-0) Finally this man made the comment that, “You’ll know where you are when you see it.” To which I replied (a little tetchily I have to admit), “Look last time I looked I didn’t have psychic skills. How can I be expected to know something I have never seen?” At this point another hosptial employee who looked like a theatre porter who was standing nearby said, “There’s no need to talk to him like that. We have policies against abusing staff you know.”
This time I really let rip (well for me anyway), I burst into tears telling him that he had absolutely no idea what I’d been through in the past year and how dare he tell me I was being abusive when all I was trying to do was to get effective directions. I also told him he’d know what abuse was if he did my job. He then accused me of shouting and abusing him! At which point we just walked away headed in the direction we thought it might be, found a more intelligent human being who actually took us to the consultant’s office.
We talked with the secretary who still maintained that she thought she’d told me that the CT appointment had been cancelled. “If that’s so shouldn’t it be backed up by a letter?” enquired Chris.
“Oh no we don’t send out letters for cancellations,” came the reply to that one.
However, she was apologetic and helpful, took our numbers and said she’d talk with the consultant about my case. Later she rang us up to say that letters and the scans were being sent immediately from Halifax. But notice that it had taken us going in person to see her and complain about it. Chris and I had discussed going to see Mr P privately as I feel I can’t wait any longer so I asked her how I could arrange a private consultation with him as his next clinic at the hospital wasn’t until the third week in July.
“Are you in BUPA?”
“No, but we’re willing to pay.”
She gave us his BUPA secretary’s phone number. Very soon after, we received a further call saying that Mr P didn’t want us paying out of our own money to see him and he’s arranged to see us on Tuesday on the liver ward!
This might be a result but I feel utterly drained and yet again worried about the lack of communication between the hospital and dismayed by the efforts Chris and I are having to put in. Getting all churned up like this can’t be doing my immune system any good. I feel at times like I’ve wandered into the mundane, absurd and surreal world of a Kafka novel.