Professional Ignorer

I know there is no such word as ignorer but bear with me.

When I was doing my A levels I wanted to be a doctor.  I liked science and puzzle solving. I was interested in people and somehow it made sense but I was far too lazy and a bit squeamish, so it never happened.  I've visited people in hospital more often than I would like recently and I have never been so grateful for my laziness.

Everything moves so slowly in hospital: a doctor can order a test on Wednesday and it still hasn't happened by Sunday.  Patients are annoying and their relatives are worse. Hospitals are huge, easy to get lost in and full of sick people. There's never any space in the car park and parking costs a fortune.  Joking is banned in hospital, even though they are weirdly funny places. And the food....the food is.....indescribable.

If you work in hospital the only cure for all of this annoyance is to block it all out.  You can stand in the middle of a ward, loudly discussing a patient and his left-sided paralysis without even noticing that he has fallen further onto his left side, almost out of bed.  The sound of bleeping machines and their blaring alarms fall on deaf ears.  When patients press their call buttons you keep your focus on your screen: chances are they are only going to ask for something that you don't have, like a pillow, or a chair for their visitors to sit on.

I'm not sure I could have been a professional ignorer.

I can see why you would have to, though, to survive.  When you have heard a story twenty one times, you do begin to switch off.
"Yeah, mate, it was all very sudden.  You know me, I never take a single pill and now I've got hundreds to take every day......I think they're putting bromide in my tea too, cause I can't get it up."

I had to keep listening because I wanted one of his phone-a-friends to ask him why he needed to 'get it up' on an Emergency Assessment Ward.  If that was a standard test I became even more grateful I had given up any idea of being a doctor.

I would snub lots of relatives too.  Probably not the ones they look right through.  I would talk to the smiling ones who make jokes and ask politely for a chair but I would tell those who insist on a nurse sitting with them and feeding their relative (who is perfectly capable of doing it himself) to .... (Alright,I'd probably be sacked).  I would tell the relatives that insist that the nurse showers and feed their relative before they'll take him home that they and people like them are solely responsible for the collapse of the NHS and physically escort them down the long corridor to wander aimlessly until they work out where the exit is.

I also have some sympathy for the eye-rolling medics whose patients haven't understood a word they've said.  As a musician, I also speak a different language to the general population.  I can sympathise with both the medic and the man standing outside the toilet being berated, "You need to do the sample again there was no volume on it.  We need to know how much you voided."  When you've asked a pupil to play a passage 'piano' eleven times you sometimes forget that they might have forgotten that it means quietly and are not annoying you on purpose.  Patients ask their doctors to tell them the same thing over and over again because they haven't understood. I hope that's not the reason doctors ask patients to repeat the story too.

The current crop of professional ignorers that I've been watching are extremely skilled.  They can talk to relatives without looking up from a screen, find out everything they need to know about a patient from an i-pad and I am so glad they have the job and not me.

No Helpful Sympathy

Not being a regular user of the NHS, it has completely surprised me and unfortunately not in a good way. In fact, the whole system is enough to make you scream and shout (if screaming and shouting were still possible).  After seven months of coughing and throat trouble and a whole month without a voice that anyone other than bats can hear I am still waiting for any kind of useful advice.  Sometimes, all you really want someone to say is, "There, there there.  It must be terrible for you!"

Making any kind of criticism of the NHS is met with sharp intakes of breath through half clenched teeth, people feel you are being disloyal if you make any negative comment about an organisation that is so brilliant in principal.  There was a lady on the radio in the week, talking about how her GP treated her in her lead up to finally getting a diagnosis of Lupus.  The tension was palpable, as she described being treated like a non-person, who was just an inconvenience to everyone because they couldn't just give her antibiotics, set her leg in plaster or remove the offending item and send her on her way.  The interviewer was so keen to point out that this would have been an unlucky experience that even he forgot to say, "that must have been dreadful!"

Whatever happened to compassion?

When I was a child I was taken to the doctor.  It was still a frustrating experience because you seemed to wait forever, only to be in and out in a few seconds flat, with a bottle of pink disgusting medicine but they did know your name, they did look at your notes, they did look at you and even look in your mouth, look at your tongue, palpate the offending part, take your temperature and have some idea of how to tell you not to worry , so that you didn't worry.  I also think that your GP chose who they referred you to.  They knew the consultants in the local hospitals and they worked with them.  They got you an appointment by writing them a letter and telling them why you needed to see them.  It seems that now all of this is done by a central office, with no thought about the actual patient.

My appointment with an ENT consultant was booked by a very nice woman who telephoned me from the central office.  She was patient enough to let me repeat everything at least 4 times until she heard me and she booked me an appointment for the end of January at my local hospital.  I was happy with that at the time but then I went back to work after the Christmas holiday and began to get frustrated and depressed that I couldn't do my job properly.  I'm not an easy person to help.  I want to be able to do everything myself and I don't want to admit defeat and so it was with a heavy heart that I decided I couldn't wait another 3 weeks to see someone who might be able to help. I thought it might be worth ringing up to see if I could get a cancellation.

I rang the number on the letter.  The person on the other end (after saying that they couldn't hear me a few times) told me that I didn't have the right number.  "But it's the number on the letter," I said.  "They must have used an old letter, you need this number...."

So, I rang that number.  Was I speaking to a human or a recording?  I wasn't sure.  "Name"  "Booking Reference Number" "Password" they barked at me.
"I don't have a password," I said.
 "Page 3 of the letter," came the response.
 "I have a one page letter," I said.
"Your GP give you 3 pages!"
"My letter came through the post, " I croaked.
"Pardon?" came the reply
"Sorry, I've lost my voice," I said.
"You said," they snapped.
"Your GP's cocked that one up, you'll have to ring them.  I can't access anything without your password."

So, I rang my GP.
"Yeah, you'll have to speak to the Secretary.  They're on the phone though......."
I waited.......
"I'll put you on hold," she sighed.
Eventually, the secretary picked up, "I'll give you the number."
Stupidly, I said,  "Without a voice, I've already explained this to four people, now I have to ring someone else?" It's amazing how frustration can completely remove your brain.
"Well, if I ring them I won't know what alternative dates you can make, will I?"
"Oh yes, sorry.  This is the right number though, isn't it?"
"If it's not you can phone back."  Silly me, why didn't I think of that?

So, I rang another number and explained my problem to a fifth person.  She was nice, friendly and finally seemed to be the right person.  She found me on the system, "Yes, you have an appointment on the 11th of February."  My letter said, 28th January.  "Let me see?  Oh yes, that appointment has been cancelled. No, not by the user, by the provider."
This is where I became a sobbing wreck.
"Don't get upset," she said, with some compassion in her voice.
"That's easy for you to say. That's because everything is easy for you to say," I joked through the tears.
She laughed with me, "At least you have your sense of humour!"