Hospital carry-on is not much fun
MY view of hospitals has always been coloured by impressions from the media.
I think the first image I had was gleaned from Carry On films, where hospitals were staffed by pompous consul-tants, bungling and randy junior doctors, saucy nurses and everything presided over by Hattie Jacques as the formidable Matron who swept through the wards like a galleon under full sail.
Then there were all those TV medical dramas where earnest and dashing doctors juggled heroic acts of life-saving with precarious love lives, leading up to today’s Casualty stuffed with non-stop life-or-death melodrama.
In fiction, it’s all go, go, go. In reality, it’s dull, dull, dull.
Over the last week I have made regular visits to a loved one who is hospital awaiting surgery on a major injury.
And the main impression is one of isolation and being forgotten.
All those bustling nurses and cheery orderlies on the TV shows? Nowhere to be seen.
Presumably budgetary cons-traints mean staffing is kept to a bare minimum, but having to wait half an hour in intense pain after pressing the emer-gency call button for someone to attend is surely not right.
It’s not the fault of individual nurses and other staff at the sharp end, they are genuinely conscientious, if harassed.
I suspect the problem is, like a lot of things these days, down to over-management and, ironically, ‘elf ‘n safety’.
Years ago in my home town, there was an independent voluntary organisation dedica-ted to supporting local hospital patients.
It would raise money and spend it on TV rooms, books and other niceties which made hospital stays a bit more bearable, and organise rotas to go round wards with drinks, magazines, sweets, toiletries and so on or just chat to patients and pass on messages, taking a little pressure off the overworked medical staff.
I know in many areas the WRVS is in operation and I’m sure it and other volunteers do good work, up to a point.
But judging by the Southport and Ormskirk Hospital Trust’s published policy on voluntary workers, all volunteers have to be recruited and controlled by the management.
This involves filling in long application forms, providing references, attending inter-views, submitting to criminal records bureau investigations and undergoing ‘training’. No doubt this is intended to protect patients against weirdos, but I suspect it merely puts off genuine caring people who might otherwise give up their time to support the sick.
And as for providing TV rooms, well of course we now have Patientline units, which charge patients £2.90 a day for Coronation Street and Pac-Man and an outrageous premium for making or receiving telephone calls.
There’s progress for you.
m.montgomery@champnews.com
Do you really need a dog?
The curse of dog poo on our streets is back.
When I started my journ-alistic career on provincial papers, it was one of the issues that most frequently vexed councillors and letter-writers.
It seemed to flare up and die down again every few years and polarised the doggy and non-doggy camps to entertaining effect. There was even an amusing debate, in the late 80s I think, into the mysterious arrival and subsequent disappearance of white dog poo.
In recent times the intro-duction of fouling by-laws and poop-scoops saw a reduction in the problem. But now it’s back with a vengeance.
The other day, I found that everywhere I walked in town I encountered mess on the pavements every 25 yards or so. Parks and playing fields are becoming no-go areas for children again.
But I can’t say that I see significantly more people with dogs on the streets. So what’s going on? Are they sneaking out at night and in the early morning?
Now, in general I quite like dogs and they seem to like me, but I’ve never really got on with the whole dog ownership thing.
I have no problem with working dogs on farms and country estates, and if there is open land on your doorstep, what’s the harm?
But urban areas are another matter. A dog needs exercise and somewhere to poo, and parks and pavements are simply not fair game.
Yes I know there are plenty of responsible owners, but for every one that carries a poop-scoop there are half a dozen that don’t.
By-laws are pretty useless. Who’s going to march up to a tattooed thug and say: “I’ve just seen your pit bull foul the footpath. What’s your name and address so I can report you to the authorities?” Does anyone know of any successful prosecutions?
But why do people want dogs in urban settings anyway? OK. the tattooed thug’s pit bull makes him more intimidating, weedy oiks trying to boost their limp machismo might also want one, and lonely old ladies might want companion-ship and security, but what’s in it for ordinary family folk?
There’s vet’s bills, the (admittedly slim and over-hyped) danger of dogs turning bad and the bother of what to do with them when you go away.
Perhaps it’s hen-pecked husbands who want a pal that doesn’t answer back but offers brown-eyed loyalty and devotion. And an excuse to go to the pub.
So I’m not a pet person. Anyone who can send me a good justification of why they need a dog in the town will receive a copy of my Korean cook book.
In the meantime, pick up your pet’s poo, please.
