U is for Unbelievable

In the UK we have this thing called the NHS. Despite the present government’s lies about their intentions, and their thinly veiled best efforts to dismantle it, it’s a life saver. It doesn’t matter who you are or how much money you don’t have, you get medical treatment.

It’s rare in the extreme that you will hear me criticise it, but here’s that rarity.

I recently had a polyp removed from the roof of my mouth and all it cost me was time and discomfort. That’s the NHS.

I need a follow-up appointment to make sure everything is tickety-boo, which according to me, it is. The appointment was arranged for April 29th, next Tuesday. No problem. I can do that.

Two days ago, I had repeated phone calls asking me to confirm that I will attend that appointment. Irritating, but again, it took only a few minutes, and who am I to complain? I confirmed that I would be there.

This morning I’ve received a letter telling me that the appointment has been cancelled because the consultant is not available. It’s put back to July 29th.

Fair enough. The guy (or gal) may be sick (or pregnant).

What was the point of the fucking phone calls then? Is such frigging about the best use of NHS resources? Is such pratting about the best use of my time and their time?