Today is the third day in a row that I have cried. I’ve cried a lot over the last two weeks but today the crying was relief. The other days worry. The relief came today after Jimmy went for a scan on his knee and had a good result. The worry that came before it was the not knowing what the results would be and working myself up with panic. He’d been saying his leg hurt for weeks and complaining that he couldn’t even walk then when he fell over I was worried but couldn’t see anything so put it down to growing pains. Then, a fortnight ago he was getting changed and I noticed, couldn’t miss it actually, a lump on the back of his knee the size of a satsuma.
I rang the Doctor’s surgery, they were half an hour away from closing and fully booked but when I told the receptionist why I needed to see a Doctor she immediately made an appointment free for me before they closed at 6. That’s worry. That’s panic. They had no appointments but what they heard about my little boy’s symptoms were disturbing enough for them to drop everything and see him straight away. I was pleased we could see the Doctor but obviously it was kind of like a slap in the face saying THIS IS SOMETHING TO WORRY ABOUT! THIS IS NOT NORMAL! THIS IS TIME TO PANIC!
The Doctor was absolutely thorough with him as you would want. She checked his neck, his groin, his arm pits and then she got another Doctor to come in and look as well. She said she thought it was nothing to worry about. A fluid filled cyst she predicted but nothing sinister. Still, just to be precautious she would book him in for a scan.
And… For a day or so my mind was placated. TWO Doctors had thoroughly looked at him and we were on a waiting list to have the scan. I knew if they were at all worried, like the receptionist had been, they’d have rushed that scan through and this eased my mind. But as time went on my mind did funny things to me. The panic that rose inside me was almost bursting out and I saw all the horrible things flash before me. Even though I knew they hadn’t been too worried I looked at this lump and watched my tiny boy be in pain with it and all the worst nightmares played in front of my eyes every time they closed. I was driving myself bonkers. Truly. I couldn’t even talk about it because I was that frightened that if I did it would make it more real and I found myself feeling like I couldn’t breathe with tears pouring out of my eyes on the way home from school and nothing I could do to stop them.
And then today. The relief. Two weeks of feeling like I was going to combust with worry and some kind eyes looked into mine and the voice that matched them said ‘Your little boy has a Bakers cyst. It’s very rare in children but it is absolutely nothing sinister. You will be referred back to your GP so that he or she can work out the best way to remove this for him because it’s painful and we can make that go away’. The nurse put her arm around me. She is, in a normal for Norfolk way, Jonny’s cousin’s friend so she knew us but I think she would have hugged whoever the Mummy crying with relief in her room was. And I just feel so lucky that I was the person who had to wait two weeks and that my son’s medical issue is really nothing to worry about. It was two weeks of torture but that sure beats any alternative. Being on the arse end of a waiting list in the NHS is the best place to be. It means no one is worried. It means you’re almost certainly ok. And though I couldn’t write this post before knowing everything was fine, I knew it was a place on the waiting list that I wanted to be.
People complain so solidly about the NHS and how they have to wait but believe me, you only have to wait when the news is likely to be good. It’s the same when visiting A&E or even just seeing your GP. A wait = good prognosis. It’s when they rush you in that the panic is justified.
Just before we discovered Jimmy’s cyst I’d taken Raffie to A&E. He’d been under the weather and then I found a purple spot in his ear that wouldn’t go away when I pressed it. It was late evening on a Sunday and I was panicked so off I went for a 4 hour wait at the local hospital. The triage nurse saw him immediately and then we had to sit it out for a Doctor. At that point I knew I could relax because again, being on the arse end of a wait to see a Doctor after an initial examination is the best place to bloody be because the alternative, the people who are rushed through… Well what’s happening there doesn’t bare thinking about. So we sat and we marked time and we finally saw a Doctor who reassured us and I went home. Happy. Knowing I was lucky to have been sat in that waiting room for 4 hours. Other parents didn’t seem to feel the same and one man, who frankly needed a slap in the chops, actually shouted his complaints of the wait being RIDICULOUS! Apparently his son only needed some antibiotics for his tonsils (said boy was running up and down the corridor irritating me and everyone else. He did not look or sound poorly in the slightest) and he couldn’t understand why they didn’t just see him and get it over with. I heard a nurse explain that some very poorly children had been brought in and that they would get to him when they could. His response? ‘Well we only need 5 minutes!’ He didn’t see the point in it… He only needed 5 minutes so he could afford to wait for it while the other people couldn’t because they were THAT poorly but he just wouldn’t see the point in it. He felt, as I think lots of people do, that he should be more important, more of a priority. If only he thought about what it would mean if he was the one they prioritised! It made me feel like shouting at him to just sit the fuck down and be grateful he was in a position to wait (he was actually in a position to see his GP the next day but that’s another story) but I saw no point, he was that ignorant, how could I change his mind and besides, I didn’t feel much like a stand up argy bargy in the children’s A&E waiting room.
The poor staff. Working so hard and seeing all the things we only see in our nightmares if we are lucky and they have to put up with dick heads like this. Yes my words are crass but necessary I feel. If ever there was a time to call dick head it’s about men like the one I’ve just described!
But I know, and most people do I hope, that being on the arse end of an NHS waiting list is the best bloody place to be. And when my GP runs over and I am left waiting 45 minutes for my appointment it’s the same deal. Thank goodness my Doctor is taking the time he or she needs with patients that went in before me, it means he or she will do the same for me when it’s my turn. They don’t stick to their allocated time slots because they care not because they’re eating their lunch or being slack. And for that I’m truly thankful.
So don’t moan about waiting to see a Doctor because you really don’t want to be in there quickly. And you absolutely do want them to be doing the best they can while taking their time, it means you, me and everyone else gets the best care possible, emergency or otherwise! My wait was two weeks of torture but I’m so grateful that I had to wait it. Thank you once again to my local hospital, I’m so grateful for your expert staff and help. You are appreciated!
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