Author Topic: My Bruvva  (Read 4112 times)

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Offline Mart

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My Bruvva
« on: December 21, 2012, 10:24:53 PM »
My ickle bruvva has been in the wars.

I am a magnificent slab of muscle blessed with godlike physique, Buddha mostly. My bruv is but a pale facsimile.

Anyway, he had a digestive irritation that went from, erm, irritation to 'Oooh feck me, that really hurts'.

Then, when he weighed about 7 stone, even on the Bluh scale of measurement, he went to the doctor, then another one, then another one.

They tested him extensively intruding into every orifice, to my immense delight.

Definitely not gall bladder or gallstones, maybe pancreitis (or whatever the feck it's called, but your pancreas hurts and you puke a lot) or the jackpot, pancreatic cancer. What a happy fortnight that was.

Then, when he looked lilke that bloke what was liberated from Belsen (then got fed chocolate by well meaning squaddies and promptly died) he was hospitalised, by a doctor. In his car. At 4am, after his missus rang at midnight.

He got put on a drip. We couldn't visit, the hospital might have infected us.

Turns out the gall bladder thing was a whoopsie by the hospital despite what the doctor said a couple of weeks ago, his pancreas is a wee bit fecked, despite what that doctor said a couple of years back. Turns out he'll be deficient a gall bladder very shortly (maybe in a year or two then) and, on his behalf, I'd like to thank Redhill hospital for the kidney infection that they gave him during his biopsy.

Remind me again, how much does the NHS cost?

On a brighter note, my neice was advised that today was the shortest day. She then, in a sort of plaintive way, said 'But it's my day off'.

Orf back to civilisation tomorrow to discuss with bruv exactly, and precisely, how they cleared his constipation. Caused by drugs he was given which did an amount of good approximate to sweet feck all.

Ho ho ho.


Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Mart

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #1 on: April 17, 2013, 08:46:19 PM »
My brother has now had his operation to remove his gall bladder cancelled 3 times.

First time at 08:00 on the day.

The second time after sitting in a waiting room all day. His surgeon was very surprised as he was ready to start hacking and slashing. Nobody knows to this day who cancelled the operation and reassigned my brother's bed, apparently. Especially not the site manager who beat my family out of the car park on his way home.

The third time was when they did his bloods, and, bugger me, his liver had started malfunctioning after months of bimbling along on painkillers, anti nausea medication and sod all food. Who'd have thunk it?

Since then he's been staying at home a few days then getting bad enough to go back to hospital to get fed and watered on a drip. Then getting sent home again.

Last Thursday night it got bad enough they called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived, loaded him up and set off to Redhill. About halfway to Guildford the sister in law queried where the feck they were going, and confirmed to the hapless crew they were going the wrong way. They set off again. When they were about half way to Gatwick the sister in law again enquired where the feck they were going. At this point the crew mumbled they were new to the area and their satnav was broken.

The sister in law directed them to Redhill.

When they arrived the crew became shifty again, turns out they didn't know the pincode to the doors. 2 hours to do 12 miles, happily for bruv he was on morphine.

I popped in on the Friday with my mum, sister in law and niece.

I found my brother in a wheelchair parked up outside the scanning department, all alone. He reckoned he'd been there an hour. He looked more like my grandad. We found a grown up to get his bed, it's more comfortable when you weigh sweet sod all.

Me and my mum then amused ourselves by looking for health professionals and then, when we found them, asking them tricky questions like 'What is happening?' I get my charm from my mum.

They then decided they'd better scan him again and promptly wheeled his bed off while it was still plugged in, how we laughed, not so funny by the fourth time though.

Turns out the gall bladder he shouldn't have was infected and full of, well, shitty horrible stuff. He also had a magnificent cyst or two in his pancreas. They stuck a needle in his gall bladder and put a drain in then wheeled him back to the Surgical Assessment Unit. There are twelve poorly fitted manhole covers between scanning and the SAU and two cable runs. Every one makes the bed go 'clunk' and the patient say 'ouch'.

Once in the SAU we requested pain relief, two or three times. I found that by saying the same thing in a polite monotone and maintaining eye contact the health professionals became quite professional and a drip was fitted, even water was provided with a glass and everything.

I then amused myself by photographing my brother's notes and copies of the correspondence the sister in law had brought with her. Nobody said a feckin word.

One piece of correspondence I could not photograph was the letter from a representative of East Surrey Trust apologising for my brother's treatment and promising great things. Sister in law had handed it to a doctor at 07:00 that morning. He had promptly 'lost' it, apparently by this time the doctor was also 'lost'.

My brother was then assigned a bed. Once again we trundled over the twelve manhole covers and 2 cable runs, 'thunk' ouch' etc

I enjoyed the redundant ward stacked with mattresses and beds.

We arrived in the ward, and waited.

Then me and my mum started playing hunt the health professional again. I won.

I enquired whether my brother's need for a drip had now passed, it seemed unlikely since the containers still lay half full on his bed. The health professional conceded that I may have a point, not surprising since they were the one who'd fitted fitted the feckin thing downstairs. They continued to chat to their colleague but found their concentration was hindered by my obstinate refusal to go away. The drip was refitted.

I then requested water and a glass, the health professional stated my brother was not allowed water. Bit odd as the same health professional had supplied water and a glass to my brother about an hour previously.

We were then ejected as visiting hours were over.

As an aside you can pay 25 quid for all day parking at Redhill Hospital, or you can pay 2 quid to Redhill Golf Club which is on the grounds but a seperate entity. East Surrey Trust is not happy with this to which the Golf Club and it's car park users say 'Bollocks'.

At 14:00 on Monday they miraculously managed to transfer my brother to Guildford on time, I had a pallet firm in mind just in case. They confirm his gall bladder will have to come out along with a lump of pancreas but, guess what, he's too weak to undergo the surgery. They are going to shove a feeding tube up his nose, train him to do same, and send him home to build his strength up. We suspect he is being shoved back into the home / hospital cycle again, but hey, eventually they'll get it right surely?

Incidentally the parking charge at Guildford is a quid an hour with no alternatives, phones and tellies are on a meter and visiting hours are 14:00 - 16:00 or 18:00 - 20:00 which is handy when you live 12 miles away and enjoy sitting in rush hour traffic.

I am very much in the mood to kick bottom and take names and will at least have a destination in mind  in the event of an armed revolution.

Mt Tomlinson has been quite decent, Mr Beresford, his colleague in Mole Valley is a turd. Justin nudged him for at least an acknowledgement of my correspondence. Nada.

They work for you my arse.

The NHS is in shit order.
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Geoff Reid

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #2 on: April 17, 2013, 09:20:26 PM »

Jeez.....
....put him in car and get him to your gaff and then into GWH.

Pretty sure he would become high profile very quickly.


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Offline Mart

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #3 on: April 17, 2013, 09:42:41 PM »
And there's bits I've missed. It's why I keep writing it down. Eventually I'll pull it all together.

Crossed my mind to bring him down here more than once, he'd be a surefire hit in A&E.

Suspect they'd dope him up, tube him up and send him back to the apparently affluent South East. No discord between the Trusts and all that.

I am feeling quite vengeful and intend to indulge myself once he's sorted.
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Geoff Reid

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #4 on: April 17, 2013, 10:14:20 PM »
I eventually 'won' a long running 'thing' withe.NHS shared business unit this week. Lordy but did they show how repetitively stubborn and incompetent they can be.

Eventually I fired a single shot at the top bloke and within 24hrs the 'thing' was resolved to my complete satisfaction and no little amusement.

I'll type that nugget up on its original thread :)


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Offline Muggins

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #5 on: April 18, 2013, 08:31:38 AM »
Fun aside, that's awful and having a brother of which I am exceptionaly fond, I know how you feel.

Is there no Talk Guildford?

Yes, I would have put him in the car and driven him here - he and the family permitting.
Oi! Listen mush. Old eyes, remember? I’ve been around the block a few times. More than a few. They’ve knocked down the blocks I’ve been around and rebuilt them as bigger blocks. Super blocks. And I’ve been round them as well.  The Doctor (Night Terrors)

Offline Mart

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #6 on: April 18, 2013, 07:24:48 PM »
Just found out he'll be sent home after being trained to feed himself via tube up his nose in the next day or two.

He'll have 'food' delivered and a nurse will visit occasionally, which will be nice.

After two weeks they'll 'probably' get him back in to take out his gall bladder, about 5 months late, and whip out a bit of his pancreas. They will however be leaving his stent in so he can look forward to being operated on again just as he was potentially recovering.

I've got the top knob's, or is that nob's, address email and mail, I'll be sharing my thoughts with him shortly.

I'm coming to believe that the last thing the NHS needs is more money. I think it needs people who can get the right things (patients and health professionals) in the right place (hospital) at the right time. (What it says on the feckin appointment letter). If that doesn't happen then there should be a righteous arse kicking party.

Don't they get pissy when you confront them as well?
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Outoftowner

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My Bruvva
« Reply #7 on: April 19, 2013, 09:21:10 AM »
Mart, I think that your letter to the NHS big-wig needs to be a version of the story as you posted it here. Your unique comedic slant on things should cut through any armour of the uncaring, how can I fob this bloke off, type of person.
Hopefully the Keystone Kops type of story will come across as it should do. Funny if you are not involved but a sign of deep rooted incompetence if you are. Go to it!
What's it all about?

Offline Mart

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #8 on: April 26, 2013, 06:49:11 PM »
6 page pig of a thing sent off to the Chief Exec. I'm fairly happy with the balance of sarcasm, fact, rudeness and sortitfeckinoutedness.

I do a bit of customer service so I've aimed to produce something that would ruin my week month in a contextual kind of way.

Turns out Bruv has to feed himself for 19 hours per day via the tube up his nose. He has to sleep at 30 degrees as well, I'm assuming that's an angle, cos if it's temperature his heating bill his family will be well sweaty.

It's his birthday tomorrow so I'm taking a run up to civilisation to offer support, ministration and to take the piss.

I'm sure he's looking forward to my arrival and get's the bloody kettle on. He can watch me drink his tea cos he's still nil by mouth.

Except Golden Virginia.
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Outoftowner

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My Bruvva
« Reply #9 on: April 26, 2013, 10:00:15 PM »
Keep us informed Mart !
What's it all about?

Offline Muggins

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #10 on: April 27, 2013, 08:42:53 AM »
And wish him a Happy birthday, even it might be next years!! 
Oi! Listen mush. Old eyes, remember? I’ve been around the block a few times. More than a few. They’ve knocked down the blocks I’ve been around and rebuilt them as bigger blocks. Super blocks. And I’ve been round them as well.  The Doctor (Night Terrors)

Offline Mart

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #11 on: April 27, 2013, 09:53:47 PM »
I am back from civilisation where people talk normal like what I do.

Turns out bruv had an interesting last couple of days where the health professionals kept trying to feed him, despite him being nil by mouth. They also forgot to order him his liquid 'food', lucky he asked where it was before he left.

It also turns out he shouldn't even be around cooking food, apparently it gets the saliva and gubbins going and then his pancreas kicks in and gets a bit shouty. Luckily his missus can't cook for toffee. (joke) (but true).

He looks a bit like a skinny astonaut as he shuffles around with what looks like a bag of custard attached to a pump, 19 bloody hours a day. Sleeping sitting up is feckin his back up, I reckon he should stop whining, never hear me whining about a bad back.

He now looks merely feckin awful and it was nice to see all the family all in one lump, left him knackered but happy.  Or maybe that was just me leaving .....

We now watch the useless sods to see if they do what they are supposed to do when they are supposed to do it.

 
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Mart

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #12 on: June 22, 2013, 05:21:10 PM »
Just been to see the little scamp again.

He is in the ICU at Guildford Hospital and is enjoying some pain. He is in more pain than he might have been because his epidural fell out. I kid thee not.

They are going to have another fiddle about tonight, maybe some black nasty would do the job? In the meantime he is having a lengthy chat with Mr Morphine.

We are not entirely sure what has, or has not, been done. It's a weekend dontcha know?

I also, coincidentally, received the response to my complaint today. It is a masterpiece of obfuscation with an extreme reliance on clinical jargon which is odd because my main thrust was punctuality. I am also deeply attracted to the frequency of 'extremely high levels' of admissions which cause operations to be bumped, it sings to me.

East Surrey just shut it's maternity unit for reasons unknown. Babies will henceforth be born in Portsmouth.
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don’t know what your rights are, or who the person is you’re talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.

Offline Geoff Reid

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Re: My Bruvva
« Reply #13 on: June 23, 2013, 08:20:55 AM »

I reckon that, for most people, the NHS works well but for some others it seems determined to do them ill.

I don't know what the answer is Mart, but I suspect it doesn't lie in that particular hospital.

I'd recount what happened to my eldest Brother in a Belgian hospital but it would serve no useful purpose here apart from illustrating that I know something of the frustration and fear you're likely to be feeling, but that is also useless to you and your Bro.

Hospitals reduce all of us to helpless impotents at times but the difference between a salted wound and a salved one is often the attitude of the health 'care' professionals.




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