Health Care

I'm too sexy for my socks

Yesterday I had minor surgery to remove uterine fibroids (one the size of a golf ball), hopefully saving much future menstrual agony, and leading to this oh-so-sexy surgical-socks-and-painted-toenails combo. Him Indoors was unintentionally hilarious when he said, "You look like you've been in a period drama." My, how I laughed. But I sincerely hope my period drama is over.

It has taken me 35 years of nausea, cramps, excessive bleeding, low iron counts and a general lack of energy to have this taken seriously. I'm so glad it finally has been, and I hope that by talking more to our young women we can prevent them suffering the pain that we have tolerated because we've been told things like, 'that's just the price you pay for being a woman'. Let's not even start getting into the issue that medical practitioners might be less inclined to be so dismissive if it effected men. I'll get to that elsewhere. 

What I would like to acknowledge is how well the process was handled. From the admission staff to the nurses, doctors, wards-people, surgeons, and anaesthetists, everybody was efficient, understanding and compassionate. I am impressed and awed by the service and care I received. Of course, I have some pain now (as is only to be expected after things have been scraped away from my insides), but I have been given drugs to manage it with clear instructions, a follow-up call this morning, and a routine check-up in a few weeks' time. 

Scooter

While I was in the hospital, being hooked up to machines and having all my vital signs monitored, I was of course transported back to eight years ago today, when I lost my best friend to cancer. I still miss him every day, but, although my heart aches, I am able to think of him and smile rather than cry these days. I have so many memories of happy times, and also, obviously, sad ones as we saw him lose his sparkle. But even as his physical form was shrinking before our eyes, the palliative care he received was incredible. The kindness of the medical staff who managed his pain and saw him to the end of his life was humbling. They were wonderful to him, and to his family and friends, who visited him in hospital and stayed with him when there was nothing further that could be done, except let him leave with dignity. I thank them all.

In the UK, some people want to sell off the NHS. It is baffling beyond belief that anyone would actually choose a system like the one that exists in the U.S.A. A recent video released on the Common Dreams website shows the shock with which British people heard the costs of basic healthcare (childbirth; ambulance ride; asthma inhalers) across the Atlantic. I don't want to get political here, but, seriously, how could anyone with a conscience vote for a party that would allow this to happen? Healthcare should be not be optional; it should be available to all; and it should not be monetised. 

I know the NHS is a creaking organisation and one which desperately needs funding and a massive overhaul. I'm not ignorant - I realise that people are ageing and that medical procedures are becoming more expensive and more in demand. I understand that we can't continue the way we're going as the population continues to both age and increase. What we need is measured and considered discussion and respect. What we do not need is privatisation. 

And the people who care for us; the people who listen to our complaints and assuage our pain should be respected and rewarded - not penalised, underpaid or stressed beyond breaking point. They are literally (and I don't use that word lightly) our saviours. In fact, I'll finish with a quote from the late, great Jeremy Hardy, who also passed away this year, who had an enviably incisive way with words, and is also sorely missed.

Friday Five: Scooter

It is with infinite sadness that I write about the death of one of my dearest friends, Glenn 'Scooter' Reid. Him Outdoors and I have known Sooter for a dozen years and he has enriched them in a way I cannot express. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know, but sadly his little body wasn't strong enough to deal with the pancreatic cancer with which he was diagnosed almost a year ago to this day. I will love him and miss him forever, but I am also incredibly lucky to have had such an amazing and close friend. So I want to acknowledge the affection, warmth and humour that he brought into our lives. This one's for you, Scoot:

5 Things I Love About Scooter:

1. His ability to be all things to all people: Whether with rugby, work, or theatre productions, he has a way of making you think that you are the most important thing in the world, and at that moment you are. With so many diverse interests he knows a lot of folk and there are always numerous claims on his attention. To love Scooter is to share him; whenever we went out for a meal or to the cinema or whatever, we would have to leave at least half an hour early to give everyone who wanted to, the chance to stop and say hello.
2. His problem-solving ability: There are few problems Scooter couldn’t fix (usually with a Maglite and a roll of gaffer tape) and he loved being able to do so. As a director I often asked if it was possible to produce a certain effect and he would say ‘of course’ and then work out how. I generally left all that technical stuff to him, as if you gave him a clear idea of your vision, he would bring it to reality. He hated problems he couldn’t fix (such as emotional issues) and on more than one occasion he wished he had a time machine so he could go back and change things.
3. His enthusiasm: There aren’t many Southern Men interested in both sport and theatre, and I’ve loved our travels nationally and internationally to see both (I’ve taken him to football; he’s taken me to rugby; we both respectfully disagree about the greatest game ever), but his interests don’t stop there. He knows stuff (he’s been an invaluable member of our quiz team), and what he doesn’t know he is generally happy to learn. Don’t get me wrong, he has an acerbic tongue at times and won’t take shit from anyone, but he can talk to most people about most things – a wonderful companion and great drinking buddy.
4. His thoughtfulness: He provides you with things you didn’t even know you needed but then can't do without, and is always available for friendship and support. We were on holiday in Vanuatu and Tasmania when we were made homeless by the Queenstown floods and landslips of 1999; we returned to find that Scooter and some other wonderful friends had gathered up our essential belongings (photos; diaries; records; books; cats) and stored them in their spare rooms/ basements/ garages out of further harm. We moved five times in six months and he helped us with every single shift. We rented a caravan for a week over Christmastime, which was tough with two cats and no space. He brought us a box of beer and a barbeque and came to visit every day to help with whatever he could, especially the cooking and drinking! Being an immigrant (albeit of fifteen years), Christmas is one of the hardest times for me as I miss my family desperately. Scooter knows this and is always particularly welcoming at this time of year, inviting us to share his family and his time.
5. His affection: he is fiercely protective of his family and his friends. When Scooter loves you; you know you are loved. And he is one of the best huggers it has ever been my pleasure to know.