bornblueegg
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 3 Sep 2008
- Messages
- 8,167
My NHS experience.
Ok, so I was walking the dog last Wednesday evening and got very short of breath. I’m 45 not as fit as I was 3 years ago when I finally gave up 5 a side and the gym 4 times a week so now I’m a lazy git. Got home and seemed to settle down.
On the way to work following day i got a sharp pain around my left shoulder blade making breathing very difficult. Soldiered on and went for lunch and got a butty and return of the pain, this time underneath my armpit. So took ibuprofen and got on with it, as you do. Decided to get it checked out by my GP Monday as She also had some results from a 24 hour ECG I had to go through following fainting episode about 6 weeks ago.
Now as you are aware, chest pain after investigation into sporadic heart murmur isn’t the best symptoms on earth and does need a medical type expert to diagnose, rather than my usual – ‘it’s a pulled muscle love it’ll be fine in a couple of days….’ Apparently this is a male thing, so I’m told by ‘er in doors.
ECG results were fine; Doc said it’s just a false electrical heart signal, quite common and nothing to worry about. Great, what about the pain in my side, Doc? Followed quickly by ‘Why are you sending me to the hospital Doc?
So 9:15 Monday morning after seeing my GP I’m on my way to A&E with a referral from Dr Stephenson. At this point a very quick re-evaluation of life starts to take place in the back of the black cab as well as lots of ‘….its muscular, cause it is’
I suppose this where my story starts and what do you expect to see Monday morning in A&E? Yes there was a drunk sleeping over 3 chairs and the usual kids whimpering with obviously broken bones. Also, the expected obese gentleman with his leg in bandages and half the Sunday league team with swollen knees, ankles, elbows and head injuries that they couldn’t be arsed getting sorted on Sunday morning as the pubs were open and be easier to do on works time brigade. (Done this myself on numerous occasions to get out of work).
The staff were pleasant and asked me to take a seat and wait. I expected the usual 3-hour delay as my status wasn’t life threatening or urgent but again no. I was called in and told to strip to the waist and put on the gown. Not even Trinny and Suzanna could make this fashionable or even pleasant. It covers ‘feck all’ and has got to be the worst designed covering garment in history. The one consideration, as I lay on the bed staring out at all the activity was ‘Why was I seen so quickly with all the other more pressing cases still waiting?
A pleasant senior nurse called Rachel then took my blood pressure, temperature and questioned the history that led me to be referred in the first place and then left me to re-arrange my garment for the eighth time. My attempts at making this light hearted were taken with good grace and a smile. I good see an electronic ‘score’ board type thing that showed what was going on in each of the A&E bays and I could just make out my name moving to the top. Puzzling, as you know it was just muscular.
15 minutes later I was then wheeled into the AMU (Acute Medical Unit), this was not good. I again was hooked up to ECG monitors and had my vitals checked every 40 mins by the staff nurse ‘Gráinne’ who was excellent, funny and in complete control of 5 other beds including Mr Obese with chest pains, the Liverpool fan that had fallen & didn’t know where he was and Mr 50 who had fainted at a family gathering. Couldn’t see the other 2 beds. I was then seen by the house doctor, who went through my medical history, gathering as much information that could have supported 2 episodes of ‘House’. The Consultant then followed this up with further investigations in infinite detail. By 2 O’clock in the afternoon the consensus of opinion was a blood clot on my lung. Oh Shit!
Blood works, X-rays and again the now usual ‘Ops’ monitoring went on and I was given tablets and an injection into my stomach muscle in order to start to treat my condition by ‘thinning’ the blood. It was at this point I was told I would be kept in over-night and monitored. This I didn’t expect. Now I was starting to get concerned, not quite praying to the almighty but reminding him who and where I was. Thinking sensibly I was in the right place and surrounded by highly trained and efficient people who couldn’t do enough for me.
By 11 O’clock that night I had been seen by 3 doctors, 1 consultant, 2 staff nurses, a radiographer and several nursing auxiliaries. I’m sure there were more but it was, at this point a very long day. I had not had a single bad experience, other than the obvious diagnosis and the staff were happy to explain every aspect of what was going on and the next steps. I also mention at this point that the other patients, I would have killed by now, but the staff were nothing but patient and pleasant. This probably says more about me than it does about them and my choice not to enter into a caring profession was well founded.
I couldn’t sleep, so I kept reading and noticed that Gráinne finally went off duty around midnight, I believe at least an hour and a half after She was supposed too. 3:00am saw further ‘Ops’ taken; 4:00am saw further blood works and 4:30 I was moved to another ward.
By lunchtime yesterday I had been seen by a nutritionist, a Pharmacist who explained which drugs I was being given and why, the wards house doctor and the senior house doctor and a consultant. The diagnosis was revealed as being ‘Pneumothorax’, basically a small tear in the lung that can spontaneously happen in tall, skinny blokes like myself and has basically finished my blossoming career as a deep-sea diver and I’m not allowed to fly for minimum of 6mnths. <a class="postlink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumothorax" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumothorax</a>
My thanks go out to ALL the staff at ‘The Countess of Chester’ hospital, their skill and efficiency did not go un-noticed by me and I have nothing but admiration for chosen careers.
Ok, so I was walking the dog last Wednesday evening and got very short of breath. I’m 45 not as fit as I was 3 years ago when I finally gave up 5 a side and the gym 4 times a week so now I’m a lazy git. Got home and seemed to settle down.
On the way to work following day i got a sharp pain around my left shoulder blade making breathing very difficult. Soldiered on and went for lunch and got a butty and return of the pain, this time underneath my armpit. So took ibuprofen and got on with it, as you do. Decided to get it checked out by my GP Monday as She also had some results from a 24 hour ECG I had to go through following fainting episode about 6 weeks ago.
Now as you are aware, chest pain after investigation into sporadic heart murmur isn’t the best symptoms on earth and does need a medical type expert to diagnose, rather than my usual – ‘it’s a pulled muscle love it’ll be fine in a couple of days….’ Apparently this is a male thing, so I’m told by ‘er in doors.
ECG results were fine; Doc said it’s just a false electrical heart signal, quite common and nothing to worry about. Great, what about the pain in my side, Doc? Followed quickly by ‘Why are you sending me to the hospital Doc?
So 9:15 Monday morning after seeing my GP I’m on my way to A&E with a referral from Dr Stephenson. At this point a very quick re-evaluation of life starts to take place in the back of the black cab as well as lots of ‘….its muscular, cause it is’
I suppose this where my story starts and what do you expect to see Monday morning in A&E? Yes there was a drunk sleeping over 3 chairs and the usual kids whimpering with obviously broken bones. Also, the expected obese gentleman with his leg in bandages and half the Sunday league team with swollen knees, ankles, elbows and head injuries that they couldn’t be arsed getting sorted on Sunday morning as the pubs were open and be easier to do on works time brigade. (Done this myself on numerous occasions to get out of work).
The staff were pleasant and asked me to take a seat and wait. I expected the usual 3-hour delay as my status wasn’t life threatening or urgent but again no. I was called in and told to strip to the waist and put on the gown. Not even Trinny and Suzanna could make this fashionable or even pleasant. It covers ‘feck all’ and has got to be the worst designed covering garment in history. The one consideration, as I lay on the bed staring out at all the activity was ‘Why was I seen so quickly with all the other more pressing cases still waiting?
A pleasant senior nurse called Rachel then took my blood pressure, temperature and questioned the history that led me to be referred in the first place and then left me to re-arrange my garment for the eighth time. My attempts at making this light hearted were taken with good grace and a smile. I good see an electronic ‘score’ board type thing that showed what was going on in each of the A&E bays and I could just make out my name moving to the top. Puzzling, as you know it was just muscular.
15 minutes later I was then wheeled into the AMU (Acute Medical Unit), this was not good. I again was hooked up to ECG monitors and had my vitals checked every 40 mins by the staff nurse ‘Gráinne’ who was excellent, funny and in complete control of 5 other beds including Mr Obese with chest pains, the Liverpool fan that had fallen & didn’t know where he was and Mr 50 who had fainted at a family gathering. Couldn’t see the other 2 beds. I was then seen by the house doctor, who went through my medical history, gathering as much information that could have supported 2 episodes of ‘House’. The Consultant then followed this up with further investigations in infinite detail. By 2 O’clock in the afternoon the consensus of opinion was a blood clot on my lung. Oh Shit!
Blood works, X-rays and again the now usual ‘Ops’ monitoring went on and I was given tablets and an injection into my stomach muscle in order to start to treat my condition by ‘thinning’ the blood. It was at this point I was told I would be kept in over-night and monitored. This I didn’t expect. Now I was starting to get concerned, not quite praying to the almighty but reminding him who and where I was. Thinking sensibly I was in the right place and surrounded by highly trained and efficient people who couldn’t do enough for me.
By 11 O’clock that night I had been seen by 3 doctors, 1 consultant, 2 staff nurses, a radiographer and several nursing auxiliaries. I’m sure there were more but it was, at this point a very long day. I had not had a single bad experience, other than the obvious diagnosis and the staff were happy to explain every aspect of what was going on and the next steps. I also mention at this point that the other patients, I would have killed by now, but the staff were nothing but patient and pleasant. This probably says more about me than it does about them and my choice not to enter into a caring profession was well founded.
I couldn’t sleep, so I kept reading and noticed that Gráinne finally went off duty around midnight, I believe at least an hour and a half after She was supposed too. 3:00am saw further ‘Ops’ taken; 4:00am saw further blood works and 4:30 I was moved to another ward.
By lunchtime yesterday I had been seen by a nutritionist, a Pharmacist who explained which drugs I was being given and why, the wards house doctor and the senior house doctor and a consultant. The diagnosis was revealed as being ‘Pneumothorax’, basically a small tear in the lung that can spontaneously happen in tall, skinny blokes like myself and has basically finished my blossoming career as a deep-sea diver and I’m not allowed to fly for minimum of 6mnths. <a class="postlink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumothorax" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumothorax</a>
My thanks go out to ALL the staff at ‘The Countess of Chester’ hospital, their skill and efficiency did not go un-noticed by me and I have nothing but admiration for chosen careers.