I had to take my mother into Waverly Private on Saturday morning for a minor procedure, she’d had to fast since Friday morning, and had not been allowed to take anything any food or fluids on Saturday till after the procedure (which itself was meant to take all of 15 minutes) had been completed.

They told us to get there by 10:30am, we were there by 10:15 just in case there was a line. There were all of four patients already in hospital gowns in the waiting area, and one admissions nurse who was quite friendly. She advised that there would be a slight wait - 15 minutes till we were seen by a nurse who took my mothers weight and height and also decked her out in that awful hospital gear.

And then we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I was somewhat crotchety as I’d been in a rush to get ready in the morning and hadn’t had anything to drink or eat either, and discovered to my dismay that the little canteen downstairs was shut, and all they had was fizzy drinks in a drink machine. Not even tea/coffee/water facilities in the holding pen, or anywhere else in the hospital that I could see.

They told us that everything should be finished by 1-1:30pm at the latest.

FUCKING LYING CUNTS.

I had to sit there, watching my mother feel so desperate that she almost shed a few tears (my mother is very much the archetypal ‘iron rose’, a woman who I’ve seen cry or show any weakness very few times in my life - I can count them on my hands and have left over fingers), feeling so weak she was close to passing out. I saw at least four different nurses wandering about, nobody was being hassled, there was no queue and the patients weren’t complaining, but as I watched my mothers condition worsen, I began to fret and asked how much longer it would be.

“Just wait, not much longer”

“Not much longer”

“Please sit and wait till we call you”

Finally, 1pm and we finally get called into a room to speak to the anesthetist about my mother being prepped for the procedure. He says the anasthetic is not as strong as a general and that while she will go under immediately, she’ll be awake about 10-15 minutes afterwards and we will be able to go straight home. I complain to him about the wait so far and the fucking BASTARD TELLS ME NOT TO GO CRAZY.

To this point I had been polite, calm and civil, I had not raised my voice or used anything but the most acceptable language, but the fucking prick almost made me lose my cool. Gritting my teeth, I told him that I wasn’t going crazy, but that a wait of this length was unacceptable, and I was expression my disappointment. He then smirks and apologizes, then tells us that he will go and prep an IV drip and that he will be back in 5.

15 minutes later, he ushers my mother away and leaves me sitting there, dumbfounded as to what I’m meant to do.

Another 15 minutes later, a nurse ushers me out of the room and tells me to wait in the main waiting area. I ask how long it will be and she says the procedure just takes a few minutes, that it shouldn’t be too long.

I wait, and with every minute that ticks by I can feel myself getting more and more pissed off.

Half an hour later, I walk around the floor looking for a nurse to ask how much longer I’d be waiting, and to place a complaint. There is NOBODY on the floor but me - ABSOLUTELY NOBODY. I can feel the steam screaming out of my ears as I begin to lose all desire to remain calm and civilised and as soon as I hear footsteps I storm around to where they’re coming from and come face to face with a nurse walking through a door and having a good ol’ chat to another nurse.

Gritting my teeth, I explain my situation and how long I’ve been waiting, and I’m told to go sit back down and wait till they call me.

FUCK YOU.

I snap and can barely keep a lid on it and talk almost at a whisper while I try and restrain myself from grabbing her by her dress and bitchslapping her a few. I told her my mothers name and my name and demanded that she walk into the theatre, stop the bullshit and give me a REAL answer as to how long it was going to be - and if it was going to be more than 10 minutes, that I was going to go outside and have my first fucking cigarette of the day, and buy myself a fucking coke.

She looks down at me, tells me to wait and disappears into a doorway. She reappears and says that my mom is still unconscious and they don’t know when she’ll wake as she just has to sleep it off. I thank her in as civil a manner as I can manage, then disappear into the lift to go down for my coke and smoke.

After three cancer sticks and half a small bottle of diet sugar (hah, that amuses me), I wander back upstairs and they tell me that she has just woken up and I can be go inside to see her.

She gets dressed but is weak and they provide some disgusting clinfilmed sandwiches which look dry and old and like they’re in violation of just a few food safety regulations, as well as a tiny cup of instant coffee.

We left the house at 10am that morning, and didn’t get out of there till 3pm.

Would I go there again? I’d rather hire someone to bomb the fucking building than willingly go there for treatment. A day later and I’m still fuming, and figuring out how to place a complaint that won’t be dismissed and shrugged off.

So can anyone actually tell me why the fuck people even bother with private hospitals?!

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This entry was posted on Monday, May 12th, 2008 at 12:40 am and is filed under Dear Diary, Rants. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.