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| My dad was a GP for 40 years. The NHS let him down when he needed it most | My dad was a GP for 40 years. The NHS let him down when he needed it most |
| (about 1 month later) | |
| When my dad went into hospital I promised I would get him home. I wasn’t being honest. As a senior doctor in the NHS looking after seriously unwell patients, I know many octogenarians with his problems who are admitted to hospital don’t survive. As a GP for more than 40 years, he knew this too. | When my dad went into hospital I promised I would get him home. I wasn’t being honest. As a senior doctor in the NHS looking after seriously unwell patients, I know many octogenarians with his problems who are admitted to hospital don’t survive. As a GP for more than 40 years, he knew this too. |
| Dad fought through operations, infections, depression, pain and distress over months in hospital. Much of his struggle wasn’t against his underlying illness, but against the consequences of what I considered mistakes, oversights and failings in his care. | Dad fought through operations, infections, depression, pain and distress over months in hospital. Much of his struggle wasn’t against his underlying illness, but against the consequences of what I considered mistakes, oversights and failings in his care. |
| Most of the errors appeared to be avoidable. Two days after he was admitted, he became confused and drowsy, with laboured breathing. Mum was in tears. She had never seen him like this and knew something was wrong, but she couldn’t get anyone to take her concerns seriously. She spoke to nurses, junior doctors, the ward sister and the consultant overseeing Dad’s care. Each time she was told politely that she was wrong, that she was overreacting, that everything was fine. She wonders if it was because she is an elderly woman with no medical knowledge, who speaks English with an accent. By the time I arrived, it was obvious to me that he had sepsis. He was transferred to the intensive care unit moments later. | Most of the errors appeared to be avoidable. Two days after he was admitted, he became confused and drowsy, with laboured breathing. Mum was in tears. She had never seen him like this and knew something was wrong, but she couldn’t get anyone to take her concerns seriously. She spoke to nurses, junior doctors, the ward sister and the consultant overseeing Dad’s care. Each time she was told politely that she was wrong, that she was overreacting, that everything was fine. She wonders if it was because she is an elderly woman with no medical knowledge, who speaks English with an accent. By the time I arrived, it was obvious to me that he had sepsis. He was transferred to the intensive care unit moments later. |
| I lost count of everything that went wrong. Medications weren’t given when prescribed, specialists that he needed to see never showed up, and tests and procedures were delayed or cancelled. I kept a diary of those miserable months. It’s a novella. It’s too painful to read, a contemporaneous record of missed opportunities that, if avoided, might have made Dad’s final months less traumatic. | I lost count of everything that went wrong. Medications weren’t given when prescribed, specialists that he needed to see never showed up, and tests and procedures were delayed or cancelled. I kept a diary of those miserable months. It’s a novella. It’s too painful to read, a contemporaneous record of missed opportunities that, if avoided, might have made Dad’s final months less traumatic. |
| I have rarely seen healthcare from the side of the patient. I felt I had no voice, my 20 years of experience rendered irrelevant. I didn’t want to be the annoying, interfering doctor-relative, and stayed silent to respect the professional autonomy of the staff. It took time for me to accept that my dad’s care was poor and that my silence might be making things worse. My trust in the system disappeared. I reluctantly became his proxy doctor. I became the interfering relative because I felt I had no choice. | I have rarely seen healthcare from the side of the patient. I felt I had no voice, my 20 years of experience rendered irrelevant. I didn’t want to be the annoying, interfering doctor-relative, and stayed silent to respect the professional autonomy of the staff. It took time for me to accept that my dad’s care was poor and that my silence might be making things worse. My trust in the system disappeared. I reluctantly became his proxy doctor. I became the interfering relative because I felt I had no choice. |
| The hospital has a bad reputation. Mum’s friends and neighbours say they would never want to go there. My medic friends who have worked there recount anecdotes of poor practice and a culture of fear. I don’t understand why the voices of these people remain unheard. I tried to bring up problems in Dad’s care but was met with indifference and shrugged shoulders; I felt that I was causing a fuss over nothing. Sometimes I wonder whether I should speak to the hospital again, but I know how complaints processes work. They culminate in a letter of apology on headed notepaper, but very little change. | The hospital has a bad reputation. Mum’s friends and neighbours say they would never want to go there. My medic friends who have worked there recount anecdotes of poor practice and a culture of fear. I don’t understand why the voices of these people remain unheard. I tried to bring up problems in Dad’s care but was met with indifference and shrugged shoulders; I felt that I was causing a fuss over nothing. Sometimes I wonder whether I should speak to the hospital again, but I know how complaints processes work. They culminate in a letter of apology on headed notepaper, but very little change. |
| Can the NHS be excellent rather than mediocre? Or have we accepted that this is the way things are? | Can the NHS be excellent rather than mediocre? Or have we accepted that this is the way things are? |
| Dad needed a safe, effective, timely and patient-centred NHS and didn’t get one. When I reflect on the patients I’ve been responsible for, I realise that his experience wasn’t unusual. It happens all the time across the country. Maybe as a doctor I had greater expectations for his care than the system could deliver. | Dad needed a safe, effective, timely and patient-centred NHS and didn’t get one. When I reflect on the patients I’ve been responsible for, I realise that his experience wasn’t unusual. It happens all the time across the country. Maybe as a doctor I had greater expectations for his care than the system could deliver. |
| Is it too much to expect zero medical errors? Can the NHS be excellent rather than mediocre? Or have we accepted that this is the way things are? I don’t know if it’s caused by failings in leadership, a lack of government investment or other factors. Maybe our altruism has slowly decayed and we’re too exhausted to change a broken system. | Is it too much to expect zero medical errors? Can the NHS be excellent rather than mediocre? Or have we accepted that this is the way things are? I don’t know if it’s caused by failings in leadership, a lack of government investment or other factors. Maybe our altruism has slowly decayed and we’re too exhausted to change a broken system. |
| It upsets me that memories of the good times have been displaced by memories of Dad’s suffering at the end. I can’t bear to set foot in a hospital again. I can’t face the idea of going back to clinical practice. I don’t want to be complicit in an NHS that can’t deliver the very best to the people who depend on it. | It upsets me that memories of the good times have been displaced by memories of Dad’s suffering at the end. I can’t bear to set foot in a hospital again. I can’t face the idea of going back to clinical practice. I don’t want to be complicit in an NHS that can’t deliver the very best to the people who depend on it. |
| If Dad was here, he would say that this is grief talking and to pull myself together. He might be right. To say the NHS stole him away is overly emotional, but Dad dedicated his life to the NHS and it let him down. By accepting that mediocre care is all the NHS can deliver consistently, I am ashamed that I have been part of the problem and failed to be part of a solution. I am filled with sorrow that I lost my dad and that our country is losing the NHS. | If Dad was here, he would say that this is grief talking and to pull myself together. He might be right. To say the NHS stole him away is overly emotional, but Dad dedicated his life to the NHS and it let him down. By accepting that mediocre care is all the NHS can deliver consistently, I am ashamed that I have been part of the problem and failed to be part of a solution. I am filled with sorrow that I lost my dad and that our country is losing the NHS. |
| If you would like to contribute to our Blood, sweat and tears series about experiences in healthcare, read our guidelines and get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com | If you would like to contribute to our Blood, sweat and tears series about experiences in healthcare, read our guidelines and get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com |
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