The Father Oliver Coss Column: I don't like to complain, but...
Something has bitten me and caused an infection in my arm. Suffering is relative, of course, and had I realised last week that I’d need this week to spend an unholy amount of time attempting to see my GP, I’d have realised that I had little about which to complain.
The process begins with discovering something needs attention, and while my affliction presents moderate discomfort and only slightly damages my working pattern, I know that getting it seen to is going to take time, tenacity, and no small amount of talent. I start with my local surgery, who use a bizarre app that triages your symptoms and decides when you need to see a doctor. Unfortunately, the app won’t triage you unless there are free spaces for appointments that day. I check multiple times a day, going back to the app at the times it suggests appointments will open up again, and give up. Consulting the NHS 111 website, I receive some helpful advice that my swollen arm is nothing to worry about, but that I could consult a pharmacist. This I cheerfully do, as I do like people really, and so queue briefly in my local pharmacy before being seen by someone. They take me into a small examination room, and within thirty seconds confirm that there’s nothing they can do, that I need to see a doctor, and that this probably ought to happen soon.
The surgery is right next to the pharmacy, so in fervent hope that I can sidestep the tech I potter over for a short but pointless conversation with the receptionist: not even she can book appointments unless you’ve been through the triage app. I can try again in the morning, and take my chances, and as I leave I overhear an elderly couple – almost at the end of their tether – who’ve been similarly inconvenienced. But – and I look up! – I can call NHS 111 and they can book an appointment for me. Only they can’t, as they don’t think that I have anything needing medical attention, and can be cared for at home. “What if I disagree, and follow the advice of the pharmacist?” I ask the non-medically trained NHS 111 call-handler. “Well, that’s up to you”, she replies.
I rise early next morning to use the triage app again. Two hours later I’m offered a physiotherapy appointment, as the app has wrongly concluded my problem is orthopaedic. I ring the surgery, tell them (nicely) that their app is useless, and am offered an appointment two hours later to see a concerned-looking doctor. They prescribe a high dose of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory tablets, and book me in for a follow-up within the week.
I am a generally-assertive middle-aged man, with a mild (albeit deteriorating) illness: I can stand up for myself. My prayers, sympathies, and desire for an NHS that actually serves people is very much with those who are suffering far more than I. This needs to get better.