Peace in the plague

Further to my last post, I wonder whether the bishops and archbishops had seen this before they sent out their instructions. It might have given them pause. It comes from Facebook and I have no reason to believe it's not genuine.

'A friend posted this and I felt it is worth sharing - It comes from an Italian Doctor:

“Even in my worst nightmares, I would never have expected to see and live the events that have occurred in our hospital over the last three weeks. This horror is increasing every day; it’s become unmanageable and we have become ineffective.

At first, only a few people came, then it was hundreds, and now, we are no longer doctors, but selectors… We have to decide who will live, and who will die by sending them home, even though these people have duly paid their taxes in Italy.

Two weeks ago, my colleagues and I were atheists. Belief in science was the norm. And science eliminates God’s presence. I had always laughed at my parents for going to church.

Nine days ago, a 75-year old pastor came to us with severe respiratory problems. He had a Bible and would read passages every day to those who were dying and hold their hands. We were both mentally and physically exhausted, and bitter, but when we had the time we would sit down and listen. We have to admit that, as humans, we have reached our limits, we can’t do any more! More and more people are dying every day. We are exhausted; two of our colleagues have died and others are barely standing. We realised that mankind’s scientific knowledge is limited and that we need God! We started to pray whenever we had a few minutes. It’s incredible, but even as committed atheists, we came to God and found peace! He helps us persevere so we can care for the patients. Yesterday, this 75-year old shepherd passed away. We were devastated as never before (despite having seen 120 deaths over the last week). Because this old shepherd, whilst he was with us, managed to bring back peace to us, a peace I had had no hope of ever finding.

The shepherd has gone to be with the Lord and we will follow soon. I have not gone home for 6 days; I can’t remember when I last ate and I’ve realised how useless I’ve been to people on this earth until now. I want to help others until my last breath. I am glad to have found God and I want to serve him by helping my fellow men until my final breath."

My revered cousin, Sue, whose father was a consultant surgeon and mother a senior nurse, wrote this today: "We have been taught that cleanliness is next to Godliness in importance. Let’s not forget Godliness comes first!" Like her, my sense is that we have lost sight of that and we're the poorer for it, as individuals and as a nation. After all we'll all die some time, but I suspect the peace which that 75-year old "shepherd" brought outlasts even dying.

Do not resuscitate

You might have thought that the implication of something I wrote yesterday about the Paralympic legacy was a bit alarmist. I said, "Nevertheless it is to be hoped that the high-achievers will have dispelled the myth once and for all that disability renders you less of a person, with less dignity and worthy of less respect. This recognition has implications for both ends of life."

Today the news outlets contain a story which suggests that this is already a real matter of life and death. The case is reported of a 51-year old man with Down's Syndrome who had a DNR ("Do Not Resuscitate") notice attached to his hospital notes without his, his family's or his carers' knowledge or consent. It was only discovered when he returned in good health to his care home. The reasons given for not resuscitating the man were: "Down's syndrome, unable to swallow (Peg [percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy] fed), bed bound, learning difficulties". For learning difficulties and Down's Syndrome to be given as reasons not to save someone's life is chilling.

Obviously we don't know Margate hospital's side of the story, as they won't comment on a sub judice case. But on the face of it their treatment of AWA, the patient, and his next of kin was shameful. Sadly it's not an isolated case. The comment of Mark Goldring, chief executive of learning disability charity Mencap, is worth quoting: "We are very disappointed to hear about this case, but unfortunately, we believe that DNR orders are frequently being placed on patients with a learning disability without the knowledge or agreement of families. This is against the law. 

"All too often, decisions made by health professionals are based on discriminatory and incorrect assumptions about a patient's quality of life.

"People with a learning disability enjoy meaningful lives like anyone else. Yet... prejudice, ignorance and indifference, as well as failure to abide by disability discrimination laws, still feature in the treatment of many patients with a learning disability.

"Health professionals need to understand their legal duties when treating people with a learning disability, and be held to account when they fail to do so." 

Source: BBC Health News

Grumpy old man!

I'm told my post yesterday was a "real grumpy old man's blog"! Well, let me add to my grumples (my coinage).
Further grammatical errors that have been pointed out to me include different than. No wrong again: different from.

"Having read your blog for yesterday I find off of very annoying.  I heard a newsreader on the BBC use this only last week." Quite right, Heather. So do I, as in "Get off of the sofa!" No, just "Get off the sofa!" That's all you need.  

Adding unnecessary adverbs is a common affliction, for example, repeat again. Since "repeat" means "say, or do, again", the again is redundant, unless of course something's being said three times, which is what "repeat again" really means. Similarly return back: as "return" means "come back", you don't need the "back". Get a grip!

Don't let me get started on misplaced apostrophes.... ONLY WHERE A LETTER'S BEEN LEFT OUT!

And lastly, I once proudly taught the RSA's Basic Clerical Skills to help my lower groups with their literacy. It would, for example, teach them how to write their CVs, do interviews, address envelopes and write letters. Today I received an otiose reminder from the "Oxford University Hospitals NHS Trust", no less, informing me that I have an appointment booked for 21st May. I reckon my students would have failed had they produced this sort of visual abomination: different font sizes, different alignment, irregular spacing between words and paragraphs. The envelope's addressed chummily to "Michael Wenham" (no Mr or The Rev), which I wouldn't mind, were it a personal letter from someone I knew. However, and here's the worst of the errors, it starts
"Dear  Michael Wenham"
and ends
"We look forward to seeing you at your appointment.
Yours sincerely
Patient Contact Centre".

All right, I understand it's a computer-generated letter, which comes from centralised administration department. But they certainly won't see me, and neither will the computer (I hope), and in fact I don't believe either a department or a machine can ever appropriately described as "sincere". I have to say it's not the politest of computers or contact centres throughout the letter. It would be pleasant to receive something more personal and actually more respectful. I'm not that fussed about my own dignity, but it matters that hospitals (doctors, nurses, ancillary staff and administrators) treat patients with respect. So it wouldn't hurt or be beyond human wit to programme in a format which said "Dear Mr Wenham" and signed off with a name, either of someone at the clinic whom I might actually see, or of someone at the Patient Contact Centre, with a last sentence such as "We hope you are still able to keep the appointment."

As you'll know, I am a genuine fan of the National Health Service, but the John Radcliffe's creaking stegosaurus which is its administration seems to me signally in need of a rethink.

A hospital visit

A good friend of ours has gently pointed out that I've given no indication on my blogs of how Jane is doing after her tumble from the loft ladder before Christmas (see Bathing in kindness and grace) - for which I apologise. The answer is that she has done very well. It was, I believe, a comminuted fracture of the collar-bone near the shoulder which required more plating than expected. However, it was neat job and she now has practically full movement restored, and is back to her normal activities, such as driving, being my carer, and even going back into the loft! Not that she is free of aches, particularly after a strenuous day like last Thursday.

That was the day of my postponed appointment at the Spasticity Clinic at the Oxford Centre of Enablement. (I apologise to some of my family, that's its real name. There's no PC alternative description for this particular symptom of PLS, the tightening of the muscles which makes my legs try to cross and my feet tread on each other.) It was the first time that Jane had had to transport me solo including getting the wheelchair and me into and out of the car. Parking at the Nuffield Hospital is difficult at the best of times, but worse mid-morning. We had to resort in the end to parking in the road, using our blessed blue badge. It meant that getting me out of the car was harder than usual and the trek to the clinic further x 2.

As we were waiting, rather longer than we'd anticipated, my physio, Lesley, turned up and accompanied us to see Professor Kischka (as well as his nurse and a student!). As Lesley had promised the professor was very pleasant, only missing the point once. He wanted to see me walk, and, as I normally use a rollator at home, the nurse scurried off to find me one. The unfortunate thing was it seemed to have been adjusted for a four-foot-six granny rather than for me. It wasn't one of those which has easy-adjust nuts, so I somewhat foolishly tried to walk with it. You can picture the scene - a consulting room with seven bodies in it, me hunched over this walking-frame on wheels, like one of those toy racing grannies on tiptoe. It wasn't exactly a good example of my normal shambling gait.

And the drama didn't end there. The consultant decided he'd like to see me on the bed - a broad plastic-covered couch with nothing to hang on to. Now at home I have this great device, the bedleaver, on to which I can hang and rotate as I assume a recumbent position. There, there was nothing. So I duly tipped over backwards and my lumbar muscles which I'd bruised last summer went into spasm and it was AGONY! And I YELLED! No one knew what had happened. I was more than usually inarticulate - even Jane couldn't fathom what I was saying, which was, "Get them to shove a pillow under my spine!" Anyway, eventually I was tipped upright again and stood on my feet..., and calm returned. The outcome was that the doc recommended a general muscle relaxant (low dosage). Not botulinum toxin, I was relieved to hear. I know some of our friends would have taken delight in my having botox treatment, personally I don't relish the idea of fat needles stuck into my muscles once every three months - especially having watched Junior Doctors - Your life in their hands, and the young medics' painful attempts to put in cannulas. The prof assured me he's very good at it, which I'm sure is true. Another friend recommends wine. I think I'd prefer that! I'm just not sure whether you can get Alsace Riesling on prescription.

Not surprisingly Jane could feel her shoulder that evening. Not that that stopped her taking the dog out when we got back home. One by-product of walking the hound is that we now have snowdrops in our garden, courtesy of another walker who was having her front garden made more manageable. I have always had a soft spot for snowdrops, but you do of course have to plant them "in the green" rather than as dry bulbs for the best results. One day our garden will look like this. Well, I can still dream!