Tag Archives: pain

How To Get An NHS Doctor’s Appointment Today

Well, it’s a nightmare. It’s a battle. It’s hit and miss. It’s a protracted and exhausting procedure that I’m sure puts most people off bothering.

Today I suddenly broke and realised I can’t continue living the way I am – every day in pain and agony from my hip, back, knees, and head. Something isn’t right. I can’t cope with the pain any more. And why do I have all this pain anyway? What is WRONG with my hip, my back, my knees..? And why do I get a headache every single day and migraines most day? Why do I wake up every morning with a splitting headache? I honestly can’t take it any more. it’s making me a bad mother and a miserable human being. I need to make a doctor’s appointment.

BUT… Gone are the days when you simply pick up your phone, call the surgery, and book an appointment. Gone are the days when you can go online, select a day and time from the list, and make an appointment. No, no. You can’t do anything as simply or easily any more. Why? I do not know. Perhaps it’s because they’re using the coronavirus pandemic (that isn’t a pandemic in the UK now) as a continual EXCUSE to keep patients away so doctors can have an easy working day, but if so, this is a stupid strategy long term. We are all so ill and suffering, and we’re only getting worse and worse alone at home, making our injuries or diseases more complex and harder to treat every day that slips by that we don’t have any medical attention.

But back to my story. Having decided I need to see a doctor to find out what on earth is wrong with me, I went straight to my GP surgery’s website where I discovered that unfortunately I can’t do anything today or tomorrow because it’s the weekend and, naturally, the doctor’s are closed. You can’t phone, text, email, or fill out a form – they are shut, closed, offline. This is extremely inconvenient.

Meanwhile I’m resigned to the fact that, even on a weekday, I won’t be able to see a doctor face-to-face because… Coronavirus Excuse, so Monday (in two days’ time) is the earliest I’ll be able to fill out the electronic consultation form. I will hope against hope that the vicious triaging guard dogs allow the form to be seen by a doctor, and then hope that a doctor, any old doctor (I never see the same one twice) replies and sends me an email to say that I have permission to phone to book an appointment with him or her, by phone. It definitely won’t be a face-to-face appointment straight away because Coronavirus Excuse. I will then get on my knees my knees and pray that the appointment they make for me isn’t scheduled too far ahead in the future (and not at a time when I’m already doing something important – because I get no say at all about when my appointment will be. If you don’t accept the one they offer you, you get the feeling that there won’t be another one and you’re made to feel utterly ungrateful). It could be up to two weeks away. When I finally do get that precious telephone appointment, which will obviously be without any eye contact or body language or any physical examination, I will have to ensure I convince the doctor about how much pain I’m in every day, and how I can’t go on, and desperately need help. (Why does it have to be that I’m absolutely desperate before I seek help?) After that, it’s anyone’s guess. Most likely they’ll offer pain killers but no exploration as to what’s causing the problem. If I’m extremely, incredibly lucky, I may manage to somehow convince him or her to allow me to come into the surgery and sit down opposite them and have an actual real, life face-to-face appointment. This would be like some kind of miracle, a similar feeling to winning the lottery. If they examine me, they will be shocked at how much I’m suffering and FINALLY, I might actually get some help – hopefully a referral to a specialist. But in reality, a face-to-face appointment with a doctor is extremely unlikely.

This is what it’s like these days in the NHS. No exaggeration. It’s easier to get a hairdresser’s appointment, your nails done, a virgin media technician or even a plumber to come to your house. Massive problems are being stored up for the future and patients will be dying in their thousands because doctors – the first port of call for us ill and suffering people – are trying their best to keep us away as long as possible.

I’m usually proud of the UK and England, but right now I’m losing that. The GP service is not fit for purpose. The NHS is failing its people. God help you (me?) if it’s cancer.

Tonsillitis is HORRIBLE

Amy has tonsillitis. Why aren’t more people complaining about this awful disease?! It’s nasty. A throat filled with pus, agonising pain on swallowing, constant nausea, regular vomiting, can’t even keep water down, aching tummy and ears, a headache, and utter exhaustion from lack of sleep. It’s completely disabling. She can only lie there and occasionally groan. Such protracted suffering for a twelve-year-old.

She’s been prescribed phenoxymethylpenicillin, an antibiotic to treat the infection (in case it’s bacterial) and I’m giving her Calpol for the pain. She also has anti-sickness tablets to control the nausea. I hope it all works to relieve her symptoms.

I’m worried she may be taking antibiotics when she doesn’t need them, because they didn’t test to see if it was a bacterial infection but I guess it’s better than taking the chance that it isn’t. This really is a very nasty illness.

Sigh. Single mother hell. My whole body aches. I’m so stressed and I have a migraine coming on. Amy was up vomiting at 2:30am and I didn’t properly get back to sleep after that. All day today I’ve been at the Urgent Care Centre in a nearby hospital trying to get the drug’s sorted out. I’m really, really tired. No chance for a nap, even if I didn’t need to collect Jack from school and provide him with supper – I’m too anxious and stressed.

UPDATE: Amy had a reaction to the antibiotics. All of them – the penicillin and the non-penicillin. Nobody knows why, or even what causes this – usually you’re just allergic to penicillin and not all the other types as well – but as soon as we figured it out and stopped giving her the pills she started getting better. It’s a bit worrying for the future if she ever gets a bacterial infection (sepsis? another bout of tonsillitis?) but I’ll research this problem and see if I can discover anything. If I do, I’ll post it here.

What Does A Slipped Disc (Herniated Disc, Prolapsed Disc) in Your Back Feel Like?

The pain of a slipped disc in your lower back is a pinching, sharp, burning kind of pain. I describe it as “high-pitched.” It’s not an ache, or a pulsing a pain, it’s more of an intermittent sharp pinch. You can tell it’s nerve irritation and not anything to do with bones or muscles. For me, the pain of a slipped disc can’t be relieved by changing position. It makes no difference if I’m lying down or standing up, the pain is just as bad, resting doesn’t make it go away. If anything, resting makes it worse. Walking and moving feels better, sitting down in a chair increases the pain.

I use a hot water bottle on my back but when the pain from the prolapsed disc is bad it doesn’t really do anything. I could use ibuprofen but I don’t want to drug myself. I don’t like using medication to dull the pain. The pain is there for a reason, and I’d much rather be treated so that the pain doesn’t arise in the first place. When a slipped disc doesn’t get better over years or decades (as in my case) what are the treatment options? I wish I knew. I wish I was under a consultant. I wish I was receiving treatment.

But of course, you can’t get anywhere near a doctor or specialist these days. GPs aren’t minded to refer anyone, and triaging means that you rarely get through to a doctor anyway. The excuse for not seeing patients and keeping them at arm’s length is coronavirus, which doesn’t make sense because there’s barely any around now and we’re all vaccinated anyway. The severe triaging that goes on at GP surgeries, ensuring patients aren’t able to see doctors face-to-face, is a national disgrace. The protracted battle to get an appointment is exhausting and stressful and must put so many people off even trying. Which is the case with me. I have three or four problematic things wrong with me that I would love to get treated but I’m not even trying to get a doctor’s appointment. It’s a waste of time. They won’t see me. It’s a telephone appointment anyway and that goes nowhere. Lets hope I don’t have cancer, like so many others, who aren’t getting seen by the medical profession. We just live in discomfort and wait for a time when GP surgeries are forced by the Government to be welcoming to patients again.

January 13th 2020 (50 excerpt)

Last night I had excruciating outer ear pain from a quarter to five until a quarter past six in the morning. It was so agonisingly painful that I was groaning in my mind as it pulsed and the pain overcame me in waves. This was a screaming, pinching, slicing pain, different from the aching pain I get in my joints. Even just the sheet touching it was almost too painful to bear. What the hell is this?! Why would the outer ear (and I really do mean the external part of the ear — I think it’s made of cartilage?) be that intensely sensitive and engulfed in pain? It’s bizarre. I lay there gritting my teeth trying to decide how to put either a hot water bottle or a pack of frozen peas on it when any contact with anything was impossible, and what kind of pain killers, if any, would work. Somehow I made it through enough time for it to ease off a little, and I managed to doze off and sleep fitfully until seven o’clock.

Sometimes I wish someone I trusted had given me advice about being hypermobile when I was younger, instead of what actually happened which was my friends giving me masses of positive attention and telling me to, “do it again – stick your legs behind your head!” or “show us the splits,” or “do another backflip.” I wish someone had said, “don’t stretch your already over-stretched ligaments any further or you’ll have constant pain in your knees, hips, and back when you’re fifty.” If I could speak to my younger self I’d say, “be gentle with your body. I know you get a lot of admiration from pushing it to its limits and doing crazy party tricks with your unnatural flexibility, but you’ve got to understand this will wreck your joints forever and you’ll have pain when you’re older that will never go away. Life is fleeting. You’re in your prime only once and when it’s gone it never comes back. So enjoy it, make it good and interesting, but look after your body. Treat it with respect and don’t overstress the ligaments in your joints. And another thing… Live how you want to live. Make your life count for you. Soon you’ll be old, your body will start failing and your beauty will be gone. All too soon it will be over and then someone will be saying about you, “yes, she died fifteen years ago…” And that will be true! You will have died fifteen years ago and life will have moved on. Everything will have changed. Your time and your one chance will be used up. Make the most of it now, and be aware that your lifetime is very precious and very brief.”

Life is so pleasurable between bouts of pain and anguish. I guess that’s what we live for, those fleeting moments of glory.