My Consultant

This is more timely than I expected with the news features at the minute concerning the staff at Alder Hey hospital. This is the first of my “I love the NHS” fan posts I suppose. I hope you never get to be as grateful as I am, for although I’ve paid into the system since I was 16 years old, I’ve received more than I’ve paid. What a beautiful and amazing organisation it is, staffed by such superstars. 

Picture a medical consultant surgeon. I presume you’re thinking of a man, I expect that he’s Asian (it’s a stereotype I know, but they are usually built up, pearl-like around a grain of truth). He wears glasses doesn’t he? Tall? No? Is he calm and comforting? 

You’re right, my consultant surgeon is all of these things, and I am so grateful to him and his team. I wanted to set down in words, how and why I think I have such a fabulous relationship with him, because I really believe that it could help you to do the same, if ever you need a consultant, medically, or for any other reason. It may seem a bit odd writing that I have a fantastic relationship with him, but I do. 

I’ve been very human with him, very open and honest, and he has reciprocated by being interested in me. Caring for me, offering his support. He’s forgotten my name on occasions, despite him also making me feel like I’m the only patient he has when I’m in an appointment with him. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, one thing I’ve learnt is that this cancer club, is the least exclusive one I know. He sees a lot of people. 

Every appointment that I have been to I’ve been given all the time I need. I’ve been able to ask (probably) daft questions, and ask them more than once. I’ve been able to cry and laugh, and I’ve been treated as though I really matter, every step of the way. I’m not just a file or a patient number, I’m a human whose life is being treated with the utmost care by every medical person I have met. 

Sometimes my consultant has no appointments available, and I’m seen by a minion. Those (also dedicated and amazing) medical staff are not, of course, minions, but highly skilled people who my consultant is happy to have stand in his place. I try and not be disappointed when it’s someone else, because I know that the reason for that is because I’m now there for a check up, and the patient who now needs the head honcho to see them, is in a worse place than I am now, they’re lay on a surgical bed in theatre, or crying because they’ve just received their diagnosis. So if I can’t see my consultant, I’m ok with that. 

Often when I attend clinic, I’m kept waiting (more on this next week - I’m an expert at waiting rooms). I see people, scared and frustrated. They get angry that their parking will not last them because they’ve been waiting so long. Indignant glances are shot at folk who seem to be “jumping the queue” as they arrive later and are seen sooner. They’re annoyed and anxious, and sometimes they air their views in the waiting room. I always challenge them. I watched my Mum do it once, and was obviously embarrassed…“Mum! Don’t cause a scene!” I said. She was right though. I speak to people when they complain about how long they’ve been at clinic. I speak up when they announce that they should have been seen over two hours ago. I comment if their grievance is that the clinic should have finished already, or that it’s a joke. If, as I sit in the waiting room, they ask me - why can’t they run a clinic on time? I tell them this:

I’ve been to scores of appointments, here and elsewhere, and when I’m in that room, I’ve never been hurried, I've been given all the time in the world. If my appointment is late today because someone else has been given the time that they need to be reassured, to understand their treatment, to stop crying, to feel safe, then I’m ok with that. I’m thankful I’m not in that position any more. If my appointment takes longer because my consultant, and his team, have double and triple booked their appointment slots, so they don’t have a chance of fitting in the time allocated, but it’s meant that I’ve been seen sooner, because I was worried about something, and there aren't enough clinics to go round, then I’m ok with that. My consultant has spent a number of hours operating on me, and nobody said that my allocated theatre time was over if it took longer than expected. I got what I needed. I know that my consultant does not still want to be in clinic at 6.30pm any more than I do. He will see me, before he sees his family. So he can take as long as he likes, and I won’t complain, I’ll try and smile and say thank you for his time when I finally get in the room. I’ll try and forget me and ask him how he is, and be interested in him as a human, as he always does with me. After all, it's nice to be nice isn't it?