Surviving the NHS

Yesterday I went to the funeral of a friend’s father at an old country church, a lovely ceremony attended by many family and friends. He was 98 and had lived a most interesting and useful life, for example having served in the Second World War as a radar expert in the Royal Navy – limited to the rank of Able Seaman so that if captured by the enemy they would not think to sweat military technology secrets out of him.

In 2009 he suddenly fell ill and was taken to hospital. When my friend got there he found his 86-year-old father lying untreated, unhydrated and basically on the Liverpool Care Pathway – a euphemism for the decision to let the patient die of planned neglect, thirst and withheld medication.

My friend spoke to the medics and the conversation went along these lines:

Why isn’t my father in surgery?

- We’re afraid he might die on the operating table.

What will happen if you don’t operate?

- He’ll die.

Get him into theatre now, or there will be consequences.

Two hours later, father was opened up; it turned out to be a burst ulcer, which was successfully treated.

He had another twelve years of fully alert life and the loving attention of his family.

And if my friend hadn’t fought…