Today is the 75th anniversary of the NHS, and I thought I would recount one of my more extreme experiences with it. I’ve been meaning to type this up for quite some time.
Some years ago, I woke up and I had the most incredible pain in my chest. Taking more than about half a breath was agony. I couldn’t walk across the room without then grabbing hold of the nearest piece of furniture, gripping it tightly and screaming in pain. I was alone, scared and I didn’t know what was wrong with me or what to do.
For the first time in my life, I dialled 999 and asked for an ambulance.
That was when everything changed. The operator helped me, talked to me and reassured me. Suddenly I was no longer alone. Other people – who I didn’t know – were now in charge and taking care of me.
The ambulance arrived. Paramedics checked me over, and did an electrocardiogram. Then they took me to the hospital.
When we got there, I had more tests. Another ECG, and they took a blood test. Then I was taken for a chest X-ray. More blood tests. Apparently the X-ray showed a chest infection, but it was on the wrong side, so couldn’t account for the pain. I was given a chest CT scan. And more blood tests…
There was a lot of waiting around. One thing I notice while I was waiting in the hospital was that I would see the same people passing by all through the many, many hours I was there. Nurses, health care assistants, doctors, all there for hour after hour after hour, and not once did I see them looking remotely tired or down. They were always chirpy, friendly. I have no idea how they manage it.
Eventually the results came in and a doctor told me that they had found blood clots on my lung. I’d had a pulmonary embolism. Blood thinners were applied and I was kept in overnight.
The next day, they wanted to do a echocardiogram – an ultrasound examination of my heart. This was because apparently there is a chance that the heart can be damaged by the embolism. So this was being done just on the chance that there could have been damage. Thankfully there wasn’t, but it was the most incredible part of my stay in hospital as I got to actually see the inside of my heart working, watching the valves opening and closing in beautiful synchrony.
Then a specialist sat with me to discuss my condition and try to ascertain what could have caused it. Eventually it seemed that the most likely cause was my job. I’m a web developer and would spend most of the day sat at my desk. It seems this can allow blood to pool at the bottom of the legs where clots can then form. I had no idea web development was such a dangerous job! I was advised to get up from my desk and walk around for a few minutes every hour. I’ve been doing that ever since.
This specialist told me that cancers can also cause blood clots, and that they would like to rule this out with an abdomen and pelvis CT scan. I was booked in for that and sent home with antibiotics for the chest infection, paracetamol for the pain, and anticoagulants (rivaroxaban) for the clots. I was on the anticoagulants every day for the foreseeable future. I was also given an appointment to see a specialist nurse a few days later.
After I had the second CT scan, the results from that were all clear, so there was nothing to worry about there, which was a huge relief.
Many months later I had an appointment with another specialist. Another blood test was taken and he was happy for me to try coming off the anticoagulants. He asked me to finish the pack I was taking and then stop. He booked me in for more blood tests about a month or so after to see how I was getting on without them. It turns out I was fine, and I’ve been off them ever since.
So that was my really big experience with the NHS. Obviously there have been many others, usually much more minor, but this was the big one that has stuck in my mind. It’s the one where I saw every aspect of it, from the emergency operator who sent the ambulance and made me feel at ease when I was at my worst, to the paramedics, all the hospital staff, health care assistants, nurses, doctors, radiologists, porters, everyone. And every level of the care I received. Not only did they sort out the immediate problem, they then took on two more big (and presumably not cheap) checks (the echocardiogram and the second CT scan), just to check that there weren’t other things to worry about. And all through this process, not once was there any question of how it would be paid for. No checking of insurance, no worries about whether or not I would be covered for it. The only thing anyone there was interested in was finding out what was wrong with me, fixing it, and making sure there was nothing else wrong.
So yes, I love the NHS. Absolutely bloody love it. We are so lucky to have it, and on its 75th anniversary today, I hope it is around for at least the next 75 years. But it is damaged and it needs our help. Just as it helps every one of us, we need to help it to survive. Please do everything you can to make sure that our wonderful NHS is still around to continue to help us all for many more decades to come.