The surgeon looked at me, astonishment all over her face. You’ve been like this for weeks? Yes, I replied. And the GP refused to give your a referral? Yes, I replied. I saw her trying to suppress her anger. I could almost see her going red progressively and trying to keep it all professional. Right, she said, emergency surgery tomorrow morning. Finally, someone was taking me seriously. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Don\u2019t know what\u2019s going on? I\u2019m leaving London soon<\/a> so this is one of my 20 London stories <\/a>\u2013 a celebration of 20 years of my life here.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n OK, we should start from some explanations. Most Greeks who move to the UK find the NHS maddening but this is usually for all the wrong reasons. In the main Greeks are accustomed to going to specialists immediately. The family doctor idea is relatively new. Additionally, private health is comparatively cheap – let’s say 50 euro to be seen by a gynaecologist and get an ultrasound vs. a minimum of 150 pounds in the UK. This is comparing apples with oranges. Most Greeks would find any comparison between the NHS system and the equivalent Greek system laughable. The NHS would win hands down. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The General Practitioner \/ GP system is, on the face of it, incredibly wise. Since the average patient has no idea what’s wrong with them it’s probably better to have GPs do community based medicine and send the cases that warrant a specialist to the appropriate colleague. The appropriate specialist shall see them in due time and things take their course. Chronic underfunding, expansion of GPs catchment areas, disappearance of social services and a general air of policy havoc makes things more difficult in practice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Take talking to a GP as an example – also known to residents in Britain as the Hunger Games. To book an actual appointment, most GP surgeries have the following system. They open the lines at 8:00 every morning. You need to keep calling (the line will keep dropping), and then keep waiting (your call is important to us, you are number… 43 in the queue) until finally an overworked, exasperated and probably bullied receptionist (you understand what that does to their manner) tells you if there are appointment left or not. If there aren’t you need to try again the next day. Exceptions exist – for example for young babies and vulnerable patients. But as a usually healthy adult it often feels like the system’s principle is that whatever you have will probably go away on its own. <\/p>\n\n\n\n And to be honest, speaking from experience, it usually does. Until, it doesn’t. That’s when you enter a new set of games, this time like a Marathon. To win in this game you have to persistently go through the Hunger Games every week or two weeks and complain about the same thing. The GP will give you progressively more aggressive treatments (take this for five days, if it doesn’t get better come see us again) until they are – by some miracle – forced to give you a referral to a specialist. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I once had a persistent and excruciatingly painful problem which successive GPs treated with what felt like a mix of hopes and prayers. The last GP I saw actually REFUSED to examine the actual area and when I insisted told me she felt bullied. I had learned not to piss off GPs and went home crying. I ended up in A&E the next day. I don’t think any of the nurses, doctor and surgeon in that A&E could believe how I had lived with the pain for so long. <\/p>\n\n\n\n It was so incredibly dramatic that I could not bring myself to complain. I soon moved away from that area and the relief I felt at never having to go that monumental bullying asshole of a GP was palpable. Because real bullies always accuse you of bullying them in my experience. I wish I was stronger but actually I wish that the system was designed to protect people better. This is the NHS reality. <\/p>\n\n\n\n After the surgeon examined me she sent me home with strict instructions and booked me in for emergency day surgery the next morning. I arrived and they walked me through the procedure and the risks, they answered my question and took me to theatre. It was clean, new, smelled of disinfectant. The kindly anaesthesiologist helped me drift off without any panic and when I woke up a nurse was holding my hand and explaining to me that everything went well. I then waited in a ward for the surgeon to come and talk to me about what had happened and how I could care for myself over the next few days. I left feeling relieved, without anymore pain, understood, heard and taken care of. My gynaecologist in Greece told me that even himself or his amazing consultant could not have shown such attention to detail as that surgeon did. And this, also, is the NHS reality. <\/p>\n\n\n\n