Tag Archives: Local hospital

Life’s never dull

I had today’s blog post planned and then this happened:

Cue: reams of paper towels to stem the bleeding; a frantic phone-call to get M safely to school with a friend; miles driven between home, GP surgery, local Minor Injuries Unit and local hospital; and bucket-loads of tears and the occasional hysterics as anaesthetic was injected to numb her finger.

Result: no stitches for the time being despite being told 3 were needed originally, a well steri-stripped middle finger, a buddy strap to keep it straight for a couple of days and a much-needed day off school for when emotions eventually catch up with her.

Life’s certainly never dull in our household!

When September arrives

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September can really only mean one thing: the start of the new school year and all that that entails. This year it has been just that little bit more hectic than usual as some things have changed significantly, whilst others have remained strangely static. G has moved up into Year 8 and is already embracing the addition of 3 new subjects to her timetable,very much enjoying the extra lessons of French, Dance and Drama as well as the move from Food and Textiles to Product Design. With the new school year, so there is also a new school uniform and whilst G is still a little sceptical about its appeal, I am delighted with how smart she looks, though only time will tell if that will last for the full year or not. M is at the start of the final year of his Junior school career and I still can’t quite believe that my baby is now one of the oldest in the school. We know that this year will be full of challenges from an educational point of view, but with the continued support of his teachers at school and a full year of specialist lessons at our local Dyslexia centre, we are confident that he will be able to achieve his very best.

This September has also signified some major decisions about my own career after I was made redundant out of the blue at the end of the last school year. I am incredibly fortunate that my accountancy training meant that I was offered a new job within a remarkably short time-frame and I started that position the week before the children headed back to school. I felt encouraged by my new role and yet the last 2 weeks IMG_0743[1] have been filled with unexpected angst as one of the other positions I had applied for requested an interview and then offered me the job. After hours of deliberation and discussion and numerous sleepless nights, I have decided to accept this second role as it is an incredibly exciting and challenging position that I believe I would regret turning down. I am really looking forward to starting this new job at the beginning of October, which will bring some significant changes to our household as I will be back to working full-time hours for the first time since G was born, although I am lucky that they are happy to give me flexible hours and everything I need to sometimes work at home.

September has also been the month where we enjoyed a flying visit from Grandma and Grandpa, Mike’s parents, from Canada. G and M were so excited to see their grandparents for the first time in 4 years that they created a banner to welcome them when we went to collect them from our local airport. Mike finally finished the renovation job on our 4th bedroom, a task that had been started back in April,
but was interrupted first by the whole saga of M’s broken leg and then the demands of work and our summer holiday in Portugal. The room looks great, but his parents never got to sleep there as Mike had a last-minute panic that the futon bed might be too low for them and instead they slept in G’s room, whilst our gorgeous girlie moved to the freshly painted spare room for a few days. G, M and I all had to be at school and work as normal, but Mike spent some precious time with his parents before they returned home. It was a busy few days for us all, but we managed to squeeze in some family meals and board games where we could.

In the midst of all that busyness, there is one thing that has remained relatively static and that is the current position with M’s health, a real mixed blessing. The last year has been filled with numerous food trials, including during our disastrous admission at GOSH last December, but M is still stuck at just 5 safe foods and despite our hopes to start challenging him again soon, he is not even close to being symptom-free, something we’ve been striving for since his leg came out of plaster at the start of the summer. We are surviving in limbo with minimal medical input as the plan to start some shared gastro care with our local hospital has not yet materialised and we are not due back to GOSH for another couple of months. It is very difficult to see where the next few months will take us, particularly when you add in the added stresses of his Year 6 SATs, and so Mike and I are hoping for the best, but preparing for a bumpy ride.

Rice Two-Ways

M’s happy ending

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M had been anxiously counting down, fretting that the day might never come, but finally it arrived with just over a week to go until the end of term and I had left him at school that morning absolutely buzzing with excitement about everything planned for the day. It had been marked as an important day ever since his last fracture clinic appointment 3 weeks before, which you may remember showed that the break was not mending as quickly as the orthopaedic consultants would have liked and left M sporting his rather snazzy sarmiento cast for a few more weeks. IMG_0506[1] During that unexpected extra time, M had really made the effort to use his leg even more and became scarily fast and adept at using his crutches in every situation. The last week saw even more development as he more or less abandoned his crutches at home and finally started putting his full weight on his left leg. All this to ensure that that cast would well and truly be removed that afternoon and be needed no more.

Our afternoon started with a DEXA scan at the rheumatology department of our local hospital to assess M’s bone density. The severity of both this break and his previous broken arm alongside the longer than anticipated recovery time had rung a few alarm bells for his gastro team and they wanted to check that his restricted diet and years of malabsorption issues hadn’t had a detrimental effect on his bones. Although the blood tests done during his December admission at GOSH had suggested his calcium levels were fine, this additional test would give us a clear picture of his bones and hopefully put our minds at rest. I had been warned that M would need to lie still for up to 45 minutes, something I doubted would be do-able without a lot of persuasion, by which, of course, I mean bribery, but he promised to try his hardest as he realised how important it was to get these results. Fortunately, the scan itself actually took less than 10 minutes to complete and whilst M did have to lie very still, he closed his eyes and tried to relax as the bed and scanner arm twisted and turned around him to take images from all the necessary angles.

DEXA scan over, we had just enough time to walk across to the outpatients department for his fracture clinic appointment. With our timing near on perfect, it was almost straight into the x-ray suite, where M chatted away with the radiographer as if he was an old friend and went through all the motions to get the perfect set of pictures of the fracture site. From there, it was straight into clinic and minutes later into the plaster room to have his sarmiento cast removed. Ear defenders were quickly put into place before the saw was started and M’s expressive face reflected his nerves and the mild discomfort as the plaster technician cut through the cast and the vibrations disturbed his sensitive leg. The front half was removed and trimmed as M wanted to bring it home as a memento of the last 6 weeks and I flat-out refused to bring home the back half, covered as it was with layers of dirt, sweat and oodles of dead skin.

IMG_0777[1] M and I sat waiting for the orthopaedic consultant to look at his x-rays before giving us his opinion, so I tentatively peeled back the tubigrip stocking that had been the only barrier between his leg and the plaster for the last 3 months. His left leg was a little skinnier than his right, though not as much as we had feared it might be, but was also incredibly hairy, something we hadn’t anticipated at all. A little research told us that when a cast is in place for an extended period, it causes constant irritation of the skin and so the hair grows to form a protective layer between the skin and the plaster cast. It was a completely unexpected insight into what M might look like when he eventually hits those dreaded teen years and puberty – and he really wasn’t impressed! In stark contrast to his skinny, white and very hairy leg, M’s foot was almost orange in colour and as scaly as his bearded dragon thanks to 13 weeks of no washing and hot weather. I snapped a quick photo to show it to M and the entire fracture clinic must have wondered what was going on as he and I dissolved into fits of giggles as we tried to decide the best way to remove layer after layer of the dead, scaly skin. For the first time ever, M couldn’t wait to get home and jump into the bath and he stayed in it for a long time that evening in an attempt to remove both dry skin and hair.

IMG_0783[1] We were sent home with a walking boot and crutches to help ease him back into the routine of walking and exercising without his leg in a cast and within 3 weeks both had been abandoned to one side. We’ve been back for our final fracture clinic, where M was discharged with a clean bill of health and permission from the consultant to participate in as many of the activities as he wants at next week’s activity camp. Unbelievably there is no physiotherapy available for M through the NHS, but we have an excellent private physio in a nearby town and M will have a couple of sessions there to get him well on the road to recovery. He is having to learn to pace himself, something my hyperactive 10 year-old is not very good at doing, but the aching leg that results from a couple of hours running around our garden with G is a harsh reminder that his leg won’t just bounce back to where it was at the start of the year. It will take a few months to recover the strength, muscle tone and mobility that M is used to, but some hard work and focus will get him there in the end.

Most importantly, M got the happy ending he’d been hoping for since that miserable day in April. He was able to spend his last week of Year 5 back in school without crutches and even had some time back outside in the playground with his peers. And nothing will beat the absolute joy I felt as I watched him disappear from the classroom surrounded by his supportive friends on the last day of term.

So, how is your leg now?

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“Still broken!”

That question has been directed a lot at both M and me over the last couple of weeks and yes, I’m afraid that is the answer we’ve almost flippantly begun to give in reply. As we head into our 8th week of a left leg in plaster, the initial pain and shock that gradually gave way to the novelty of the cast has all but disappeared and we are now well and truly into the “fed-up of it all and ready to move on” stage of his recuperation. M has borne the last 8 weeks with the fortitude and strength of spirit that we have come to expect of our youngest. They haven’t been the easiest, but he continues to persevere at finding the best in any given situation and whilst there has been the inevitable tears of frustration and angst, there have also been moments full of laughter and jokes and M’s unparalleled sense of humour. IMG_0308[1] With hopefully only another 2 weeks or so to go until the leg might finally reappear from underneath the protective plaster, I thought it about time I give you all a proper update.

After 10 days in the plain white, full-length, backslab cast with squishy top, M was upgraded to a lightweight, rock-hard, full-length cast in camouflage just as he had decided on that very first night in our local A&E. Fortunately, the green camouflage plaster ran out after M’s leg was finished, rather than before, although that day’s orthopaedic technician did offer him the alternative of pink camouflage with sparkles whilst she was checking that stock levels were enough to cover his entire leg. 6 weeks later, and following regular fortnightly fracture clinic appointments with x-rays, the bone growth was considered enough to move M to a sarmiento cast – something we’d never heard of and instantly googled the moment it was first mentioned to us. This cast reaches up over M’s knee at the front, but below it at the back, enabling him to freely bend his leg without allowing it to twist. This is particularly important for M as he has a spiral fracture of his tibia, which needs time to fully heal correctly. Upon hearing his newest cast would need to be in place for at least 4 weeks, IMG_0479[1] M requested a “70s Disco” theme for reasons that will later become clear, and believe me when I say that the bright orange and neon yellow stripes with added silver glitter certainly meets his somewhat unusual brief.

From a medical viewpoint, the fracture is mending well and in the latest set of x-rays we could clearly see the new bone growth that has formed. The latest orthopaedic consultant was fantastic and not only explained what was going on, but pointed it all out on the x-ray for M and me to see too, which meant that we both had a clear understanding of what he was talking about. M’s GOSH consultant and dietician have raised a concern over M’s bone density and health given the severity of this break and his previously broken arm, and have requested that a DEXA scan is carried out at our local hospital to check that all is as it should be. We are very much aware that the delay in reaching a diagnosis, the initial concerns about malabsorption issues during his early years and the subsequent increasing restrictions to his diet could have compromised the levels of both calcium and vitamin D in his bones. Hopefully this scan will reveal the current situation and indicate what additional steps should now be followed to improve his bone health.

Unsurprisingly, the shock of the break on his body caused an unwelcome flare of his EGID at the most inconvenient of times and the combination of flare and his necessary immobility meant that we took some massive steps backwards in terms of his general and bowel health in those first few weeks following the accident. As a result of this, all food challenges have had to be put on hold for the foreseeable future until we can regain the status quo we had worked so hard to achieve in the last few months. Coming so soon after we had finally recovered from the challenges of his December GOSH admission, this has been something of a bitter pill to swallow for us all, but M remains upbeat about the situation and continues to plan his upcoming hit-list of possible food contenders with gusto. This relapse has reminded us of just how precarious the balance is when it comes to M’s health and just how easily he can be tipped into a downwards spiral.

Naturally, the hardest impact of a broken leg has been the inability to move around freely, which for my very active lad has been absolute torture. Progress has been slow, but M has worked hard at each level meaning that he is finally beginning to master the set of crutches he was given when his cast was changed to a sarmiento one. The first 2 or 3 weeks saw M use almost exclusively a wheelchair to get from place to place, something that was only possible thanks to the British Red Cross, who lend wheelchairs on a 6-week basis for a small voluntary donation. This is an invaluable service, especially as the hospital wasn’t able to give us one and it has made going to school so much easier than it might otherwise have been. We quickly introduced a walker – think miniature Zimmer frame – to him too and the ability to use his walker to travel short distances as well as climb up and down stairs was key to his discharge from our local hospital after the break. Once the initial anxiety about re-hurting his leg disappeared, M has adapted to his one-leg status remarkably well and can move at astonishing speeds both on his walker and shuffling along on his bottom when the occasion demands. IMG_0506[1] The crutches have taken longer to adjust to, not least because M now needs to start putting some weight on to his leg, something he has been very reluctant to do. We finally seem to be breaking through that last mental barrier as he builds his confidence by beginning to stand unaided, though his walker is always close on hand should he need it.

Poor M has been forced to miss out on a number of activities as a result of his leg, though whenever possible, we have worked hard to involve him as much as we can. The first and biggest disappointment was that he was unable to act in a touring stage production at a regional theatre, something he loves to do and had been looking forward to for weeks. However, never one to let life get him down for too long, M insisted on going to watch the play instead as some of his friends were also involved and the production company kindly arranged for him to meet some of the other cast members following the performance. He did spend a lot of time talking about what he should have been doing, but his love for the theatre and the strength of his friendships saw him enjoy the afternoon regardless.

He also had to cope with his school’s Health and Fitness Week, where lessons are more or less put on hold whilst a number of visiting instructors as well as the staff introduce each class to a number of new sports activities. M was nominated “class photographer” and enjoyed spending his time cheering his friends on as well as capturing the week on film. His favourite activity turned out to be wheelchair basketball, booked months before but ironically apt for him and he has expressed an interest to training with the wheelchair basketball squad – once his leg is better! The end of that week culminated with school sports day and sadly, despite refusing to let his tube stop him participating last year, M’s leg made it impossible this. However, his fantastic school made sure he didn’t feel left out and he took charge of ringing the bell between events as well as announcing the scores throughout the morning. I am so grateful yet again that we have such an amazing school that has supported us all through the ups and downs of M’s 3 years with them. IMG_0439[1] He has not missed a single day of school due to his broken leg, other than for necessary appointments and that is due to the willingness of the Headteacher and his teaching team to accommodate M’s needs in a safe way and involve him in the classroom as best they can.

Nor has being confined to a wheelchair stopped M’s extra-curricular activities, even if it might have limited them somewhat. He has continued with his weekly cello lessons at school, again thanks to a fantastic music teacher who has worked around his worries and allowed him to either play his cello or hone his oral skills as he has chosen. We experimented at home until we found the most comfortable position for him to be in to practice his instrument and he has been encouraged to take part in the school music concert in a couple of weeks time. As for the “70s disco” theme plaster, this specific request is because he, G and the rest of their IMG_0499[1] Stagecoach school are performing a 70s tribute routine in a local carnival parade in the middle of June. He has once again been to every Stagecoach session this term, and so have I, and knows both the songs and the dance routine by heart, even though dancing it has been an impossibility. There is every chance that his cast may actually be off his leg by the time the parade happens, but we wanted to show wiling and be prepared “just in case”. Given the length of the parade route, M will unfortunately still be restricted to his wheelchair as his leg won’t be strong enough to walk its length, but we have some other suitably funky 70s ideas in mind to pimp both his costume and his wheelchair to fit the party vibe!

The right PLACE for an opinion

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Finally, it’s happened. Finally, I’ve found a place where my opinion matters. In fact it did more than matter, it was requested, recorded and appreciated too and, what’s more, it wasn’t just my opinion that counted that day, but M’s as well and that meant the world to him, and to me.

5729994426_7fbcf8798a At the start of 2016, not long after we had returned home from M’s December admission, I spotted an opportunity for M and me to volunteer our time to be assessors for the annual PLACE assessment at GOSH. If you’ve never heard of PLACE before, then you’re not on your own as it was also a completely new thing to me, but I loved the idea of being able to give something back to the hospital that has become the focus of the last 5 years of our life in any way we could. To my delight, M and I were both accepted as volunteers and it was then a case of waiting for the crucial email inviting us to the assessment day to arrive. When that email did eventually appear in my inbox, the day was set for early April, which coincided perfectly with school holidays and my day off work – a real win-win situation for us. M and I chatted about what the day would involve and even the unexpected turn of events that resulted in M’s broken leg didn’t stop us as Tammy, the helpful Facilities Manager and PLACE co-ordinator, reassured me that we could still take part, broken limb and all.

PLACE stands for “Patient Led Assessments of the Care Environment” and, to be honest, does exactly what it says on the tin – invites patients and others closely connected to GOSH to assess different areas of the hospital according to a specific list of criteria. Upon arrival we were well-briefed on what was required, including the 5 key areas we would be focusing on: cleanliness; condition, appearance and maintenance; privacy, dignity and well-being; food; and, ironically, a new area for 2016 and one that M was best suited for, disability. We were split into a number of teams with between 3 and 4 patient assessors and a staff facilitator in each, and each team was allocated 2 wards and either a public (or communal area), an external area or an outpatients department to inspect. M and I had discussed the ward options at length ahead of time and despite M’s initial yearning to visit Rainforest, we agreed that our opinions of Rainforest and Kingfisher wards, both of which we have stayed on in the past, would be coloured by our previous experiences and wouldn’t be as unbiased as the PLACE assessment required. I asked if we could perhaps visit one of the newer wards in the hospital as it would be vastly different from our usual haunts and was delighted when that request was met.

focus-on-the-system-theory-y

Our facilitator was the lovely Mark, who had already promised M that he would try to lead our group and would take him in the biggest lift in the hospital – which we did and saw so much more of the hospital that I’ve ever seen before. Everything settled, we headed into the main Reception, our public area, and started looking at the different things and criteria we needed to consider to complete our assessment, from fire extinguishers to hand-gel dispensers and everything conceivable in-between. Once we had finished there, we headed onto our first ward in one of the newer wings of GOSH, where, having completed our assessment of the ward itself, we observed the lunch service before tasting the food for ourselves. Our final stop was back in the oldest part of the hospital, where Rainforest ward can also be found, and what must be one of the smallest wards at GOSH. The contrast between the 2 wards was hugely noticeable and it was fascinating to learn more about the proposed improvements to the hospital over the next 5 years or so. It didn’t seem like a particularly long or overly active day, but by the time we had finished with everything we needed to do and had headed back to the Lagoon to collate our scores and add any further comments, M was completely exhausted. His enthusiastic participation in giving his own opinions and insights into what he could see so soon after breaking his leg tired him out to the extent that he fell asleep in his wheelchair and was completely oblivious to the activity and hubbub surrounding him for the next hour or so.

We both thoroughly enjoyed our experience on the day and M was delighted to discover once he woke back up that an invitation to attend next year’s assessment had been extended to him and that G had been added to the task-force too. I can’t reveal too much about what our findings were until the results are published, but I will say that we did find a problem with the disabled toilet in the main reception area. We were surprised to discover that it wasn’t really big enough to accommodate M, his wheelchair, his extended leg and me and that we didn’t have the space to manoeuvre him from chair to toilet once we locked the cubicle door. It appears that M’s broken leg came in handy on that day, though I’ve no intention in offering a similar expertise to next year’s PLACE assessment day! Since then, M and I have found ourselves sitting in the fracture clinic at our local hospital assessing what we can see surround 3-tips-to-improve-the-way-you-write-Web-Content ing us, just as if we were in the midst of another inspection. What’s more, as often comes of these things, some more opportunities for both children to be involved in an ongoing capacity with developments at GOSH came out of that day which is really exciting, but that, as they say, is another story.

“Barry Broken Bones”*

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It’s currently 5.10am and I’ve been sitting awake on the surgical ward of our local hospital since M woke in extreme pain at around 3.15am. He has finally dropped back to sleep, but it looks like I’m going to be surviving the next 24 hours on just 3 hours of unsettled sleep. The last 24 hours have passed in a blur and certainly our day didn’t end as it started out. big-play-barn We’re halfway through the Easter school holidays and, with my Mum on her travels once again and me committed to work, Mike has taken some time off from his job to be on childcare duties for the duration.

The plan for the day was a popular one with M and G alike – drop me off to my office, back home for a quick breakfast, packed lunch prep and bag pack, and then head off to a nearby play place and farm – one of M’s all-time favourite places to visit when time allows. Day out done, it would be home for a spot of homework and maybe some TV before the return journey at the end of my work day to bring me home just in time for dinner. Timed to perfection, it promised to be a fun, busy and productive day for all concerned. The first I was aware that something untoward had cropped up was the phone-call to my office during lunch-time. A phone-call from G. The type of phone-call no parent wants to receive out of the blue:

“Hi Mum, it’s me. Dad just wanted me to call and let you know we’re having to take M to hospital…”

Cue vivid flashbacks to a sunny day in Cornwall when M was 4 and the sounds of G pounding on the car window whilst Mike carried a screaming M in his arms and the ensuing drive in something of a blind panic to the nurse-led unit at Bodmin before an ambulance trip for 2 to Truro.

The partial facts I was able to extract from her at that point told me only a fraction of what I wanted to know, but it was enough to cause my heart to lodge itself in my throat and remain there for the rest of the day. With the news that M’s leg had been hurt and needed to be checked in A&E, the remnants of my lunch were pushed to one side and I worked hard to suppress the anxiety that I could feel creeping up in an attempt to catch me unaware all too frequently. I spent the rest of my afternoon in a state of mild shock, feeling nauseous about what might have happened and watching the minute hand tick slowly by as the tension started to build. It didn’t help that neither my office or our local hospital has great mobile phone signal meaning that it was near impossible for Mike and I to communicate in any effective fashion. I did manage to somehow stay focused enough to complete my day and finish some work during those long waiting hours, though the quality, accuracy and sense of that work will only be revealed once I’m back there. After what felt like hours, I finally gave in to my anxieties and called A&E, where, by complete chance, I managed to catch Mike just as he was about to leave with the children. Despite M’s severe pain, the nurse assessor felt confident that the lack of swelling and no discernible sign of a break on thorough examination indicated it was just badly bruised and some judicial doses of painkillers would soon see him back on his feet.

Now, the fact that I’m currently writing this by the light of my phone on a noisy hospital ward will probably tell you all you need to know and that the story didn’t end there. Not even close. By the time, I had been rescued from my office and we reached home, M was unable to put any weight on his foot and was screaming from the excruciating pain. He was rating his pain levels at approaching a 10 out of 10, which we knew meant this was far more serious than originally thought and his pale, strained face reflected that fact. IMG_0301[1] With very little debate and a hurried phone-call to A&E, we were soon back in the car and heading to the hospital, this time determined not to leave without an x-ray. The nurse assessor admitted on the phone to Mike that she had been reflecting on M and regretting discharging him without an x-ray, so for once we were happy to be visiting our local A&E again.

Within the hour, and obvious from the very first x-ray, we had our answer: M has a nasty spiral fracture to his left tibia. That has led to a full length leg cast from mid-thigh to toe, a considerable amount of tramadol, paracetamol and ibuprofen and an overnight stay for 2 on the surgical ward for observation. It’s been a difficult night as once again G has been sidelined whilst M heads into hospital, though this time the proximity to home has made it so much easier and she has been a superstar throughout. M’s pain has reached new levels of awful, though even then, as he lay sobbing in his hospital bed, he wouldn’t rate it as more than a 9, or possibly a 10, proving once again how accustomed to chronic pain he has become.

IMG_0302[1] The next few weeks are going to be tough and not just because of his broken leg. M is going to have to find a fortitude he’s never had before as he misses out on a much longed-for dream because of it. He is extremely disappointed, but courageously trying to take it in his stride, with the smile on his face we all know and love. I can see the hurt deep in his eyes, but we will hope that something even better comes from this disaster. What saddens me even more is that he really has been the victim in this situation. His broken leg is not due to careless or reckless behaviour on his part, but down to the action of another child. A child who probably has no idea of the physical damage to M’s body, let alone the other far-reaching consequences of his violence towards my child. I’m still reeling from the shock that a child of a similar age could cause such injury; disturbed that a family could leave without checking on his well-being and left hoping that my children don’t lose their beautiful skill of making friends of strangers wherever they are, even though the consequences can unbelievably be so devastating. I fear that this incident will leave an emotional scar on them both that will take a long time to heal.

*M’s leg might be broken, his dream in tatters and his confidence knocked, but at least 1 thing is still in tact – his sense of humour. In the wee small hours, whilst floating on a cloud of entonox, M decided that this needed to be his new name! That and he’s keen to investigate the price of a cow…

Why we should value our NHS

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If you live in the UK, you can’t help but be aware of the current problems faced by the NHS. The continuing debate over contracts for junior doctors has led to 4 strikes in the last 4 months, though the discussion has been raging for much longer, and there are more strikes on the cards if the issues can’t be resolved. Theses issues have been well-documented in the national press and I’ve no doubt that those of us who depend on a very regular basis on the healthcare provided by the NHS have our own opinions about these strikes, especially if we know, or indeed are, one of the 25,000 cancelled operations that have resulted from their action. Whatever your thoughts about these strikes – and believe me when I say that I’ve heard a huge cross-section of opinions from friends and acquaintances – it is impossible to ignore the underlying truth that the NHS is struggling and its future doesn’t necessarily look all that rosy.

Over the last 5 years, our experiences of the NHS have ranged from the outstandingly good to the outrageously awful. We continue to have a very reluctant relationship with our local hospital, who has unquestionably failed M at almost every step of the way and it is only our belief that local support and care is tantamount to his continued health and well-being as well as our peace of mind that has kept us in the battle for a shared care relationship between our local and GOSH. Likewise, whilst we are extremely grateful to M’s GOSH consultant and dietician, who not only gave us that elusive diagnosis 3 years ago, but who continue to advise, support and care for him with the honesty that we requested, the disastrous outcomes of our last admission have tested that “doctor – patient’s parent” relationship to its limits. We have accepted that they don’t have all the answers, nor access to that much longed-for magic wand, but we will keep going back because we have absolute confidence that M’s medical team, at least, will carry on striving to do their best for our medically complex challenge of a child.

Yet, despite all the lows, the high points mean that I can see there is something truly wonderful to be valued about our NHS. I see it in the regular phone-conversations that happen between M’s dietician and me, so that she can keep an eye on what’s going on from a food point of view and monitor how well he’s managing with drinking his E028 now that the NG-tube is gone. I see it when she takes her concerns to M’s consultant and talks them through and agrees a way forward, so that we don’t have to wait months for our next trek to London for an appointment before we act on the problems we’re experiencing now. I saw it in the care given to both M and me during his admission, when the nurses made sure that his best interests were met as far as possible and offered cups of tea when they were otherwise powerless to help. I saw it in the frankness awarded to Mike and I during the December debacle, when we asked for an honest opinion about his future health and what we could expect; and it was given.

And I see it at the local level that for most of us is our main contact with the NHS. Not the senior consultants, junior doctors and hospital staff dealing with the chronically ill, but through the GPs surgeries and the doctors, nurses and other staff that work there. I know that we are incredibly lucky with the local medical centre that’s found in our small village and for as long as we have been a part of it, they have gone above and beyond so many times to make things easier and get answers and help whenever we’ve needed it. Recently, I hit an unexpected stumbling block in ordering the E028 formula needed to keep M going, one that had been caused by a lack of communication between the feeding team at our local hospital and just about everyone else. A feeding team nurse had contacted GOSH to confirm whether M still needed regular tube changes and, on being told that he no longer had his tube, she cancelled the monthly orders with the feeding company. Nothing wrong there you may think and I’d agree, except she didn’t advise us that she’d cancelled it, nor did she tell our GP that it was now their responsibility to sort out his monthly prescriptions.

Thanks to past experience and my somewhat controlling approach to always having a supply of E028 in the house, I started chasing about when we could expect our next delivery whilst there was still a good amount of stock in my dining room and spent the next 40 minutes being pushed from pillar to post as I tried to track down who I needed to speak to and unpick exactly what had happened. When I finally established what I had to do, it was my wonderful GP’s surgery that I turned to and their fantastically competent staff. With the help of 1 receptionist, 1 member of office staff and the invaluable pharmacist, we eventually got M’s prescription sorted and marked as an ongoing monthly medication. They phoned, researched, ploughed through reams of medical notes and faxed until it was all sorted – and all with the attitude that they wanted to help, were willing to help and were happy to help, and a ready smile that reassured me I wasn’t being too much of a problem in their already busy day.

That is caring for the patient at its absolute best and that’s why we should value our NHS; for all those staff who get little thanks but make a big difference – or certainly did for this harassed Mum!