Are you ready for it?
It's going to come soon.
It's going to be big. Bigger than anything you have ever felt before, yet all the while silent and tranquil.
You'll feel it glowing in your solar plexus, it will be warm and wonderful.
It will feel so delicious you will almost taste it.
Prepare yourself.
Be still.
Be calm.
It doesn't care if you're old or young, thin or fat, rich or poor.
It's not bothered if you're about to lose your job or about to have an operation.
It might come through your friends and family, a stranger on the tube, a colleague. It might come from your God or my God. It might even already be inside you.
Can you feel it?
The celestial breeze?
Unfurl your sail and run with the wind.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
Friday, 5 November 2010
Let's Reorganise Everything!
I'm currently a 'victim' of the NHS.
What I need is one specific examination. I have so far had two pointless appointments, where both doctors have said, 'you need this specific examination'.
'Yes' I reply, 'I know'.
Trouble is, having written a rather tetchy letter to my GP, I feel obliged to keep attending the appointments he sends me for so I can't be criticised for not playing my part of the game.
The last appointment I had for the wrong examination even sent out the wrong preparation letter, so I couldn't even have the wrong examination I was scheduled for.
Yesterday, I became foolishly excited by another letter from the NHS, thinking it would be for the right examination. No, it was for an appointment to have the right wrong examination, if you follow my drift.
The most frustrating thing is that no-one seems to be communicating with each other, so in desperation, I wrote a letter to my GP, explaining my diagnosis, possible 'hidden' factors and which examination I should be having. I couldn't help thinking, as I put pen to paper, that maybe this is what the consultant I saw a month ago should have done.
The parts of the NHS that I am now familiar with have the aura of a third world facility. To get an early appointment with the GP one has to queue on the pavement outside the surgery for at least 20 minutes, followed by a further 20 minutes inside. There was something of the 'Spirit of the Blitz' in the queue, with one kind person actually queueing for an elderly neighbour who couldn't stand up for long. It was raining too, which added to the abject misery of the experience.
At the hospital I was kept waiting for over an hour - which gave me ample time to contemplate the 'we aim to see everyone within 30 minutes of their appointment time' notice. Another poster declared that the NHS valued my opinion, and would like me to fill in a patient survey form 'to be found in the waiting room'. My friend and I played Hunt the Patient Questionnaire for a while, and then I asked at the desk about their whereabouts. The chap looked confused, not having heard of them. He suggested I tried downstairs, and they hadn't either. Giving up hope, I did come across a pamphlet entitled 'Poems to Read in the Waiting Room'. My friend and I had a rather amusing time adding to these with little ditties, which I have to confess erred on the side of irony.
In the hour or so I was kept waiting, no one came to tell us what was going on, why we were waiting or how long it might be. All this coupled with the apparent complete lack of communication with the GP's surgery or myself was beyond comprehension. An organisation that prides itself on generally keeping its customers waiting 'only' thirty minutes in the twenty first century has much wrong with it.
I have to say that once in the consultation, everything was very well done and as pleasant as it could be. What a shame that seriously hopeless customer care and administration lets these brilliant teams down so badly.
What I need is one specific examination. I have so far had two pointless appointments, where both doctors have said, 'you need this specific examination'.
'Yes' I reply, 'I know'.
Trouble is, having written a rather tetchy letter to my GP, I feel obliged to keep attending the appointments he sends me for so I can't be criticised for not playing my part of the game.
The last appointment I had for the wrong examination even sent out the wrong preparation letter, so I couldn't even have the wrong examination I was scheduled for.
Yesterday, I became foolishly excited by another letter from the NHS, thinking it would be for the right examination. No, it was for an appointment to have the right wrong examination, if you follow my drift.
The most frustrating thing is that no-one seems to be communicating with each other, so in desperation, I wrote a letter to my GP, explaining my diagnosis, possible 'hidden' factors and which examination I should be having. I couldn't help thinking, as I put pen to paper, that maybe this is what the consultant I saw a month ago should have done.
The parts of the NHS that I am now familiar with have the aura of a third world facility. To get an early appointment with the GP one has to queue on the pavement outside the surgery for at least 20 minutes, followed by a further 20 minutes inside. There was something of the 'Spirit of the Blitz' in the queue, with one kind person actually queueing for an elderly neighbour who couldn't stand up for long. It was raining too, which added to the abject misery of the experience.
At the hospital I was kept waiting for over an hour - which gave me ample time to contemplate the 'we aim to see everyone within 30 minutes of their appointment time' notice. Another poster declared that the NHS valued my opinion, and would like me to fill in a patient survey form 'to be found in the waiting room'. My friend and I played Hunt the Patient Questionnaire for a while, and then I asked at the desk about their whereabouts. The chap looked confused, not having heard of them. He suggested I tried downstairs, and they hadn't either. Giving up hope, I did come across a pamphlet entitled 'Poems to Read in the Waiting Room'. My friend and I had a rather amusing time adding to these with little ditties, which I have to confess erred on the side of irony.
In the hour or so I was kept waiting, no one came to tell us what was going on, why we were waiting or how long it might be. All this coupled with the apparent complete lack of communication with the GP's surgery or myself was beyond comprehension. An organisation that prides itself on generally keeping its customers waiting 'only' thirty minutes in the twenty first century has much wrong with it.
I have to say that once in the consultation, everything was very well done and as pleasant as it could be. What a shame that seriously hopeless customer care and administration lets these brilliant teams down so badly.
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