As minister of health in Labour's post-war government, Aneurin Bevan gave Britain the NHS in 1948, based on the 3 core premises 1) that it meet the needs of everyone, 2) that it be free at the point of delivery and 3) that it be based on clinical need, not ability to pay. It has gone through many changes in the past 71 years, and despite all it faults it is rightly viewed as one of the nation's crowning achievements.
Having lived overseas for 20+ years I have not been "in the system" for a long, long time. However, given I planned to return to the UK, I am a British citizen, and have a address in the UK, I was eligible to dive back in. As such, I got registered with my local surgery (literally just down the road), and Thursday afternoon had my first appointment with a UK GP since, I think, 1998. Having lived with a private insurance based system for all my time away, the first thing that stood out was not having to present an insurance card or a form of payment at the point of checking in with the receptionist.
I sat down with the GP and gave him my story, starting from basically post 1 of this blog, right through to present day. He also reviewed the clinical notes from the past few hospital visits. Unfortunately he didn't give me any particularly good news, pretty much concentrating on the bad, which was always my worry. He did advise he would work on an urgent referral to the oncology consultant. And with that I was done there. My sister, niece and nephew were waiting in a pub next door, so I called my wife, and then went to find them, now in a daze.
The family left me back at the house: I elected to have the night to myself, really needing space to digest it all. I spoke to my wife, spoke to my boss, spoke to my wife, cried, spoke to my wife, cried again, spoke to my wife, cried, etc etc. I think you get the picture. I have had some pretty dismal days since 13 March, but today was hands down the bleakest one yet. And unfortunately, I don't think I have hit the very bottom as yet. Despite all that, somehow I managed to get to sleep for some much needed rest
Friday came, and I felt brighter, though really no idea how. The plan of attack was to stay positive, chase the GP and see what happens. As it was, the surgery called me first thing to enquire when I was free for a consultant meeting (basically any time it can be arranged) and to get in to give a blood sample (sadly taken the old fashioned way, meaning I didn't get to christen the chemo port). This was heartening: for the first time in a long time it felt like things were moving in the right direction. I headed into town at lunch to meet my brother-in-law and nephew for lunch, and killed off some errands. I came back home to chase some more health related stuff and tried to get a host of tasks done. The weekend starts here.