NHS Again

In spite of all my careful planning I still had to rush up the road to the local wee hospital for the blood test.  Rushing, moving fater than slow, is not my thing.  However I made it with one minute to spare.

No Stasi here, instead a notice board proclaimed 'BLOOD TEST'  'Take a seat and you will be called!'

However, there was one man sitting at a desk, a nurse waiting beside him, and me.

The board ordered me to use the sanitiser and as I did so he demanded the form.  I struggled to produce this and the nurse took me into a cubicle and placed me on a well set up seat.

Puffing like a steam train pulling 40 coal wagons heading into Cowdenbeath I sat awaiting the needle.

After clenching my fist at the very nice capable nurse she produced sufficient blood to send to the lab.  I now await the result next week sometime.  All this for statins.

Another successful NHS story.  Once past the Stasi all goes well.

Now, somewhere in Essex, a young woman, and path labs are stuffed full of women who apparently find that sort of work interesting.  So many women in path labs as there was back in the 70's.  

The head of our path lab was a doctor based at the main hospital in Queens Square, she often spent much time sitting in the front hall with us awaiting her staff doing whatever she has asked for.

The 'Doctor on call' sign on her car was a bit of a lie really but nevertheless very useful for her.  No feminists then whining about top jobs, just women doing the job.  That doctor used to drive a small blue renault I think it was.  The matron, when she came fro Queen Square, arrived in her 1926 Sunbeam!  Here, while warning the wards she was about, I would admire the car for a moment with nher, allowing the wards to hide things, before she stormed off upstairs to ensure all went well.  The deputy matron, who had been a young nurse on a hospital ship at Dunkirk, and one of those was sunk, not hers, lived in a flat round the corner.  Her phone was connected to the switchboard and when she had a holiday another senior retired nurse would take her place.  The assistant matron never went away, both sat in the flat drinking sherry.  One night the call came from the flat.  

"Can you tell me the time?" 

"It is just after 12," I replied.

"Twelve noon or twelve midnight?" came the question.

"Midnight," said I.

"Thank you," and the line went dead.

Thanks were then offered that these two never did any real nursing any more...

 

A PPV Hospital

 

Boris, with his promise of '48 new hospitals,' another of his 'open mouth and lie' statements, has led to the absurd situation in which the Health secretary claims to have 'opened a new hospital' when in fact he had opened a cancer centre at a hospital that has stood there for years.

Much head scratching led to many observant individuals pointing this out to the Health Minister, in straight forward language, mostly on Twitter.  

Then we discovered why he made this 'mistake.'  A leaked document has appeared which informs one and all to call any development at a hospital a 'new hospital,' thus fulfilling Boris's statement.  

Incredible but true!  

Moving goalposts to justify a false boast yet ministers obey this?  It is becoming difficult to comprehend the mess that is inside this cabinet, made worse by them all being on holiday and ignoring everyone more than they normally do.  How do they expect to get away with this stuff?  Indeed, why do they get away with this?

This annoyed me.

The PPV was not available in 'England' for the Dundee United v Heart of Midlothian match because of 'Uefa rules.'  Why?

It has been available up to now.  Is this to force me to watch some English rubbish or possibly a Spanish game?  I would like to know.

However, I came up with a cunning plan.  I went to the Dunfermline v Arbroath game and their PPV allowed me in for £12.  The paypal payment took a while to settle but it all went through OK.  

Interestingly, at the top of the foto it says, 'You are located in the United States.'  So that is how they dodge the Uefa rules.

Will this work elsewhere I wonder?  Will the top division work this one, or does it only apply to Saturdays, and why only 'England?' 

As expected Arbroath played well.  What was not expected was Dunfermline being absolute tosh!  Arbroath thoroughly deserved their 4-0 victory, and it could be more.  Pars now trapped at the bottom, the 'Red Lichties' in fourth place.  They will shock many teams this season, not just feeble Pars.

 

Wednesday Witter

The council planted Daffodils did their best to imitate Spring but all around dreichness remained. I was venturing out for the second time.  The supermarket had been blessed by my presence, not that Mr Sainsbury would be enriched by that over much today, and once I had returned home I cogitated  on spending money. 
My sister is in hospital, she felt rough, went to excellent doctor, who dumped her in an ambulance to hospital. A type of heart attack was upon her and now she lies complaining, unlike me, while being tested and manipulated by nurses. I suspect she will be home soon with a box of aspirin and a handful of coloured tablets to take.  I hope so, travelling up for a funeral is expensive!
However knowledge of what is happening there is limited.  I canny phone her man as he is too deaf to hear me, so I relay on daughter, who is not as efficient in informing me as she ought.  I therefore spoke, via facebook, to her daughter for facts.
During this I was called a 'technophobe' for not having a mobile phone and being unable to text. Although I indicated I have no friends and do not need one I was left feeling guilty about this so off I trooped to Argos, the shop not the ancient city, and spent money on a fancy phone.
Starting it up was complicated and eventually we are set. 
Now however I have switched it on and it wants the Pin number for the 'fingerprint' to let me in.
A dozen times I have put in four numbers, all wrong!!!
So now I have a phone I canny use!
I hate my life! 

Much later, after a lot of strange words, some online help, a video or two, and tea I managed to reset things and get the phone going.  Having never used a fancy phone, I struggled with that one that had a dial, and reading instructions that take it for granted you are 13 I worked my way through the encircling mists and succeeded to obtain a working mobile.  
Of course it would not make phone calls.
It took me a moment to realise I had to verify the Simm, so that can be done tomorrow.  My 'technophobe' hat is very much on and my head is spinning with jargon I do not comprehend.  That said I think it will be working by tomorrow, maybe.

Much of tonight was therefore spent glaring at the phone I hoped to use to contact my sister's phone why she lay in hospital.  My normal phone could not contact her either as her phone was switched off.  The reason, she was back home!
At the moment I gave up she called me.
That saved me a fortune, not that I mentioned it.
She has been coming home on the bus, found herself shaking, feeling a bit tight, and as the bus stopped at the surgery she went in.
The nurse practitioner, like all staff there, understood quickly, the doctor also and soon she was in an ambulance waiting at the hospital.  An accident got in before her but after tests, more tests and more proddings the doctor decided she had a small 'blip' interfering with the heart.  It had passed, she could go and take lots of tablets with her.
She was quite happy with the well cared for experience, her grandchildren, all adults (they say) were a wee bit shaken however.  So was I for a minute.  The cost of travelling up there for a funeral is enormous!  
That phone might leave me shaking soon also.

Canny Talk...

I fell off the roof...

Lonely Nights in the Hospital

At night all was still.  Lights were dimmed, doors closed, outside sounds nullified, stillness, disturbed rarely by footsteps, a nurse heading for her break, the lift doors swishing then moving between floors.  Silence.   Patients slept quietly for the most part, infrequent attention from the nurse dozing nearby for a few.  Seriously ill patients required more careful diligence.  Silence and stillness for the most part.   On such nights I often pondered on those unknowns who had worked there in the century past.  Not so much the medical staff, neurosurgeons and doctors were renowned in their time, I pondered those we never know, porters, domestics, office staff, a variety of functionaries who often spent considerable years in these walls.  These may have been efficient, popular, an important member of the staff yet now they are forgotten.  There are pictures, some in the history of the hospital written in 1958, others hidden in archives. These show stiff nurses in stiff uniforms posing with stiffer patients, ancient, almost frightening equipment that once operated on the brain saving many lives, and the bewhiskered men charged with understanding the nervous systems failings.  These looked more dangerous!  Ancient dark furniture in sitting rooms, coal fires, dark cots containing curious children, plaques above each bed naming the person or organisation who paid for them.  Aged furniture maybe but the layout and appearance very similar to the days of the late 70's and early 80's.  Maybe it's my twisted mind but I often wondered about those who passed through before, especially the people who served for years in that place.  The stories old buildings could tell.  

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Adrenalin

Rising just before six am I retrieved my aching hulk from the bundle of rags, filled the cavernous stomach with stale bread, checked the papers online, peered through the curtains to see if the sun was working and then headed into the fray. By eight I had done the weekly shop and was free to picture the early sun doddering into the sky in the far distance. (The sun has to be in the far distance otherwise things could be a bit awkward.) Then, having put the east wing of the salubrious residence back into some sort of order, cleaned it, opened the windows to let freshish air in, I then sat down for a tea break.

I died!

I recall working in the Hospital at Maida Vale when we ran about all day non stop. It was a constant movement with always something to do, oxygen cylinders, patients, cars, nurses throwing themselves at us, the usual.  However on a Sunday, especially when doing a twelve hour shift it was impossible to motivate the lithe body I then had to do the three trips upstairs with the dinner trolleys!  The demand for an oxygen cylinder caused much resentment and meant movement!     

Having done all the important physically demanding things the energy disappeared!

There were things to be done on the PC but I had not got the impetus to do them.  Had I to lift and carry I could do it but with no such demand the adrenalin ran away and left me. Rather like most women I know (what did you say?).  The rest of the day has seen me limp around, doze, and generally waste away.  The PC stuff is still not done, as indeed are the dishes - again, and I am looking forward to my bed.

Oh how I live the high life...... 

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So much time so nothing gets done.

Some years ago I spent a few years working as a porter in a small hospital in the concrete jungle that is London. I was glad to get this job, firstly because since arriving in the capital of the empire I had been employed in a council highways depot, shifting pavement slabs and hot bags of concrete on, that is, the rare occasions work was demanded of us. The second reason was the year I had spent working on the trauma ward in Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary. This had brought me into close contact with patients as I considered whether nursing was a career (although it was only called a ‘job’ back then) that I should attempt. The nursing staff, or ‘angels’ as the media called them, soon began to suggest I looked more in the direction of the Pathology Department, possibly a Mortician vacancy may arise they said, and that would lessen the dangers. I never quite knew what they were getting at however they stressed that they felt this was somehow more appropriate! I suppose it’s not everyone who can mistake a foot, attached to a leg recently emerged from a cartilage operation, for a crumpled sheet, as the owner of the leg discovered with a resounding scream one morning. Nor is it tactful to offer reassuring words to relatives concerned over their aged grandfather when he dies an hour later. Several of us hid behind the office door when they returned that evening! I will not mention what happened with that catheter that time…..

Anyway, I was employed for some years at the Maida Vale Hospital, as a porter, and in this small hospital I came into daily contact with all patients and staff and rarely did I come close to eradicating any of them, err, except for that incident with the stretcher on the front steps, obviously. This was a busy job and during the average day there were many times when we were doing several things at once, especially myself as I was considered so important to the running of that place. (Stop giggling at the back there!) An oxygen cylinder required on one ward, the lovely Louise in outpatients needing a visit, a patient needing direction, the lovely Elaine in the office over they way requiring attention, a problem with a dinner trolley, or Margaret on the switchboard needing me… …anyway I digress, I digress.

The point I was making is that when we are busy, and at the hospital we (meaning me!) often were very busy, it was easy to do several things at once, and visit outpatients for a chat. However come the weekend the world changed. Many of the inmates were allowed home, outpatients closed and scheduled operations were rare, so it tended to quieten down considerably. This brings me to the crux (is that allowed?) of the discussion. You see when Sunday came there was nothing to do! On occasions I would work a twelve hour shift to cover sickness and nothing happened! Now in one sense this is good, but in another it was hard. Taking the food trolleys upstairs three times. Taking them down again afterwards, and chucking out the uneaten porridge after breakfast (and no wonder!), became the main job for the day. Other jobs may arise but I didn’t want to do them! An oxygen cylinder needed changing but I struggled to get my feet of my desk, put down the paper, set aside the cup and struggle out to work. During the week it was almost unnoticed how many were changed as we were so overworked (especially me!). Not on Sunday however!

This came to mind as I looked around this dwelling, although ‘dwelling’ may be making it sound too luxurious. The desk is littered with paperwork needing attention. There is a pile of bills in the corner and one of them is dated 1998! A thin layer of dust lies over most of the place, and I hate to inform the world of whatever is in the laundry basket. I have no idea what that was but I swear it has moved three times today! I did find a clean cup, eventually, but really I have been overtaken, not hard, by sloth! This is because when there is so much free time small things, like ‘TechTris’ interferes with the free flow of ideas, and labour is shoved aside while the stomach is filled and the contents always require sleeping off. Naturally the sun has drawn me out several times, blinking into the brightness like a bat near a street light, but even then I dawdle when in a previous life I raced along. On Wednesday a tortoise overtook me! Anyway, I have been writing this since last January and I thought you ought to know.

Job Interview

Leith Hospital


Lunchtime saw me wandering through the damp streets to the local cottage hospital (not in Leith, that one is now a block of trendy flats) for a job interview. Naturally I found this exciting and worrying at the same time. Exciting as I have had few opportunities for selling myself, except to some passing Ishmaelites and I don't want to go into that! Anyway, I was looking forward to this but a bit worried that they may mistake me as capable of actually being able to do the work! That would never do! An ex postman already works there and has explained how unhappy he is at the bloodsucking approach they have to his job. This from a man not afraid to work at that! However I went along rather hoping they were developing the staff numbers as a new hospital is under construction at the moment. Alas this was not the case and the work was rather as I had expected.

Still I endured the interview, conducting myself as the lass at the dole office had insisted, no chatting up the girl (it is always a girl interviewing! Sexism reigns in NHS HR Depts), fat chance of that with these two! Age and fat being against them I treated them as my sister, although she is skinny. The questions were not from the heart, they were written down and notes on each answer scribbled alongside. While appearing efficient I could not help thinking this limits the individual asking the questions, no room for thought here. I reckon these two could think for themselves but HR will not allow this. HR, Human Resources, it used to be Personnel but modernising the name helps raise their profile and make them feel important. So far I have rarely been impressed with HR folks understanding of the work they are recruiting for. Maybe I am just cynical? Obeying instructions I answered politely, avoided lies, although I was told to 'develop' my situation, this I refuse as I attempt to avoid deception, even though this does not always prove popular, and even smiled when appropriate. They were friendly and courteous and have already decided my knee is not up to it. This they proved by referring this to the Occupational folk.

Apart from a nurse who modelled herself on the Hattie Jaques 'Matron' character from 'Carry on Doctor,' even attempting to develop a suitable build, the people were as expected. The receptionist was sour, and failed to speak a work, why do they employ menopausal women for these jobs? The lass dishing out the patients meals never saw me, I declined to purloin anything from that trolley, the patients I saw were oblivious to my existence. I noted the sign to the 'Maternity' unit and wondered how many 'Essex Girls' were to be found visiting there. One suspects their mothers and grannies may accompany them, quite nice until you notice 'Granny' is in her early thirties. The hospital is aged now. Once ideal for the town it now fails to meet the needs and the new building is badly needed. Small local hospitals may be expensive, but in small towns these are required and the cost is paid back in the comfort brought to the townsfolk by its existence. Not that the 'suits' care for anything but targets and money now!

Will I get an offer? No! But it was worth wasting their time and imagining what work was like once again. Of course if they offer me the job there will be trouble!

Maida Vale Hospital

It's funny how some things stick in the mind. For instance I spent almost twenty years in the same hovel in London and many a time the building has come into my dreams. It is not an accurate representation of the slum but it is clear where I am. While not appearing during my, much needed, beauty sleep, the above hospital is often in my mind. Dedicated to neurological and nuerosurgical medicine this was my workplace for several years. Looking back I can tell you I have not had a job I enjoyed as much.

Can I point out straight away, just to avoid any confusion, I was not a surgeon. No I failed in that regard, indeed I was not even a doctor if truth be told. The year I spent working as an orderly on the trauma ward at Edinburgh's Royal Infirmary proved that I had not the necessary for nursing. Just as well as I am sure I would have killed someone! However, while in London I took advantage of the offer of a porters job in this place. Then from 1975 until 1981 , with a few months out during the heatwave of 1976, I served my time in this place. An excellent job in a small hospital as I got close to all the patients without endangering them, and enabling me to see life as it is up close. I wish I was there now! Not that this can be as Maggie Thatcher closed the crumbling building down in the eighties, a habit she seemed to develop after that.

It is surprising how enjoyable a job can be when all around folk are suffering, and often dying, from some of the worlds worst diseases. MS or Parkinson's, brain tumours and a wide variety of accidents came through the door. Some patients became friends as they returned all to often to visit the outpatients as their disease progressed, if 'progressed' is the right word? Some of course came in as emergency admissions from other hospitals. Nothing more could be done there and this was their last hope. Many died but just as many lived, one walked out after being seven weeks unconscious! I saw her as she returned for her appointment, a bit of a vegetable we thought, but alive. Young married couple who now had this to contend with. I never found out what happened afterwards, but it would be tough for some years for them. Some couples were brought closer together by the suffering of one partner, and the care offered was good to see. Those with Multiple Sclerosis could look forward to a further twenty or so years of this. How did they cope?

I look back on this job happily because I liked the idea of doing something worthwhile and I worked with some excellent people. People of course make the job, and all to often break it. Any job can be enjoyable, however boring or difficult, if those around you make the most of it. 'Black humour,' much used in the UK, helps here. Some of you will be aware of that! There are always the lazy,the troublesome, and the difficult in every job, MVH was no different there. But I remember most of them with affection, especially the pretty girls who abounded there. The only question is how did they resist me, and so often also? Women often surprise me this way.

One night while on lone duty, which meant lounging quietly usually, I pondered on all those who had once passed through the place, doctors, nurses, other staff both important (in their own minds) and others. Who remembered them once they had gone? Some had spent twenty to thirty years working here, often during wars and economic downturns, but meant nothing to those who followed on. It struck me just how unimportant we are in the great scheme of things. We often see ourselves as important while in a job but when we leave we are soon forgotten and life goes on. Some folks do not understand this and cannot comprehend how the place will survive without them. In truth they need the work more than the work needs them. I miss this place. I miss the girls and the patients. I miss a job worth doing and seeing the poignant and the cheery pass by. I wonder if any of them miss me.......?

The N.H.S. is 60 Years Old Today

Celebrate! The National Health Service is sixty years old today. The much maligned service, without which thousands among us would be either crippled or dead, was the greatest innovation of the Labour government of 1945. Opposed by those who could afford to pay and coasting much more at the time than expected, surely this fantastic service has been the greatest boon to the nation since the war?

Over the years we have come to take it for granted. We expect to be healed, no matter what is wrong with us. We cannot understand when the NHS fails. We have come to expect too much and we carelessly abuse it too often. However, the health of the nation changed after the war. Free powdered milk for mothers, free prescriptions and the ability of many to obtain glasses and dentists that once were beyond them is a joy we cannot now relate to. However it was not unknown in the twenties and thirties for newly weds to be given a gift, of a trip to the dentist to have all their teeth out and false ones fitted. This was so they could avoid painful and expensive dentist trips in the future! Unthinkable today - even allowing for the lack of NHS dentists in some places. While prescription costs have risen, and attitudes change overall the free inoculations for kids and inexpensive ones for adults, have kept us healthy, apart of course from our disgustingly bad eating, smoking and drinking habits. Drug abuse comes under another category - stupidity!

In spite of the rising costs, in spite of what the Tory press call the 'Postcode Lottery,' in spite of Thatchers disgusting attempt to introduce an American style system that only the lower middle class could support, and in spite of many failures the National Health Service remains the envy of the world. Only the greed of the insurance companies and the medical world stop it being introduced into the USA, and in the early fifties there was an attempt to do just that. Somehow it could not progress although I cannot remember the president who attempted this. We should spend less time complaining about the NHS and more time being grateful to live at a time that such medical care is available for us today!

Hospital Life

When I first started work on the trauma ward at the Infirmary I quickly got used to the many varieties of the human species. The doddery old pensioner who had long since lost what had once been a brain, the drunk who saw the door in the ceiling being opened, and the fellow who cried out 'Fire' at two in the morning, much to the disgust of those hanging from various 'scaffolding' which was holding their broken bones in place.

Being in hospital allows those secrets we keep to ourselves to escape. We are away from family and friends and the usual run of things and this disruption can be confusing as well as annoying. Under the influence of drugs our minds can wander and we may find ourselves walking through the streets in our pyjamas or informing the doctor not to stand there because he may' harm the white rabbit.' You may be interested to know that this comment enables a patient to be transferred to the Royal Edinburgh within half an hour, a time frame other transfers could not then achieve.

The sight of patients going home is indeed a comforting one for hospital staff, especially if they are bonkers or violent. One we had was certainly a bit lacking in understanding. He was what today we refer to as 'Chav's' but then, in a more practical age, was referred to as a 'nutter.' Playing happily with a woman he found her husband coming through the door. Naturally he did what we all would do and jumped out of the window. I like to think I would have contemplated the three floors he fell down first before jumping myself but we never know do we? Anyway he landed in such a fashion as to break his leg and the husband involved endeavoured to give first aid in bets Musselburgh fashion - by kicking his head in! I am left wondering what sort of lass she was if she was involved with idiot 'a' and what was her actual,man like if involved with her, idiot 'b?' Anyway Idiot 'a' had his leg encased in plaster and eleven (11) times took it off himself because 'It itched.' I recall the registrar, as firm but fair man, informing him that he was now blacklisted and if the plaster was removed again that was his tough luck. He did not return, possibly because the senior registrar has loomed over him when in the bed a day or so before questioning his thermometer reading. 'Usually,' he said in a voice tinged with satire and threat,'people with a temperature of '108' are dead. Why aren't you?' The ward population, sitting in stony silence eager for the reply did their best to stifle the giggling.

This ward population were not the silent type, this was Edinburgh after all. They were most keen to speak when they considered it needful and one of our noble consultants constantly played into their hands by his actions. Each day a consultant would come and inspect his patients, and this one (called Mr Little?) in the usual way brought a few students and a nurse and wandered to his people. He then proceeded to ignore them! His bedside manner was to totally ignore the patient and concentrate on the X-Rays displayed on the light trolley that one of the students was given charge off. Our man would then indicate the wound, the action taken and the result to be expected. However the patient, naturally anxious and rightfully expecting a word of solace from the great man would be ignored. Edinburgh folk are at heart shy, retiring, kind folks, but not keen on being treated as second class or unimportant. "Hey pal, try telling me, it's ma leg ken?" was a not uncommon utterance from one of the few patients in the ward. Cynics would indicate their presence, "Ahm just here, behind ye doctor. If ye turn roond ye will find me, know what ah mean?" It made no difference. Years of arrogant self importance, a habit with many doctors, had led our hero to be oblivious to such cries. He ignored the pleading voice and moved on. Whether he actually spoke to a patient when unconscious on the theatre table I do not know, but he must have preferred them that way.

All this came to mind when cogitating this list I came across the other day. I am not sure how accurate it may be, but I know this sort of thing does happen, but quite where to get up to date figures I have yet to discover.

3 Scots die each year testing if a 9v battery works on their tongue.

142 Scots were injured in 1999 by not removing all pins from new shirts.

58 Scots are injured each year by using sharp knives instead of screwdrivers.

31 Scots have died since 1996 by watering their Christmas tree while the fairy lights were plugged in.

19 Scots have died in the last 3 years believing that Christmas decorations were chocolate.

Scottish Hospitals reported 4 broken arms last year after Xmas cracker-pulling accidents.

18 Scots had serious burns in 2000 trying on a new jumper with a lit cigarette in their mouth.

A massive 543 Scots were admitted to A&E in the last two years after trying to open bottles of beer with their teeth.

5 Scots were injured last year in accidents involving out-of-control Scalextric cars.

In 2000 eight Scots were admitted to hospital with fractured skulls incurred whilst throwing up into the toilet.

The list forgets to add the dozen or so who are hospitalised each year because they burn themselves while ironing clothes they are wearing!

Take care out there!

Clean Hospitals

Once again we here a fuss about clean hospitals. Everybody shouts and complains demanding spotless hospitals. Now I agree but there are one or two things to remember here. In the eighties the Thatcher government decided to stop spending on the NHS. Her mad idea was to copy the American way and use insurance to cover health needs. As always she was too busy worshipping Mammon to notice that this is a system that has failed America! Not that noticing the fact would have changed her mind of course. One of her ideas was to cut down the numbers working in the NHS, still the biggest single employer in the UK. To this end the domestic work was privatised and put out to tender. The NHS bosses were instructed to accept the lowest bid! There was to be little consideration of whether the work could be done or not. This led to poor cleaning and care of hospital buildings, and a rise in the number of illegal immigrants operating as cleaners on exceedingly poor wages. I came across many at that time in London. It took some time for this system to be changed. However hospital costs continue to rise, and all those involved are at fault. Politically it became a game. The Tories wanting to sell it off and Labour claiming to keep free health care for all. Both lied and distorted facts to get elected, both failed the NHS.
Today this nonsense continues and we have seen the introduction of 'Deep Cleaning' of all hospitals in an effort to kill of the 'Superbugs' that infest such places. Yeah, that will work! When I first started in the Royal Infirmary in 1974 I was told that I was more in danger of catching something here than anywhere else, why? Because it is a hospital and it is full of bugs! What else can you expect in a place full of sick folk? As I recall I realise our domestic lass did catch a kidney disease, possibly from the hospital, maybe not. At that time we realised this was just part of life and accepted this. Why is this not the case today?
Today's spoilt generation has been led to believe that it can have whatever it wants. It demands that a hospital should heal their sickness and not pass on MRSA bugs to them. Any failure in this leads to a demand for compensation and yet more money is lost to the NHS and placed in the hands of the grasping public. A society that is afraid to let the kids play outside because of 'bad men' or too much traffic, or even worse, rain, cannot be expected to accept the very real dangers of hospitals, dear me no!
It is of course important for the NHS to ensure that hospitals are clean, and every effort ought to be made to ensure this happens, but the daft idea of bringing back 'Matrons' in the vain hope this will succeed has me laughing. Many Matrons were inefficient, and they did not do any cleaning, oh dearie me no! But bringing in more staff to clean the place will help so we can ask why is this not done? Cost dear folks, is the answer. Wages cost money. Those that run the place today will ensure that bureaucrats can continue to 'empire build' in their ivory towers, but they will not place sufficient domestics on the wards to keep the dirt down. Reduce the number of girls sitting around gossiping and having long lunches in Health Authorities and put the money into the hospitals! That is the answer, there is no other. It will never happen mind.