Cradle to Grave

It’s no secret that I’m no stranger to the SNHS; Scotland’s nurses and doctors have saved my mobility and life more than once. I’m on at least my ninth, though not my last, life. Leg number 22 I think though lost count a while ago. Titanium spine, bionic leg etc. Not everyone is so lucky and I’m fizzing today. My immortality sustains me, but I am not so sure about your chances. 

Something is very far wrong in the SNHS, not with staff on the front line, but with management and recruitment. 

Bairns in desperate need of life saving life enhancing urgent spinal surgery are having ops postponed because staff aren’t available despite ops being booked and confirmed weeks in advance. You’ve all seen today a distraught Mum explain the awful tensions and worries her family has for her bairn when her op was cancelled as she was en route to theatre. We all hope for a quick and positive outcome.

It’s not meant to be this way in Scotland; we’d world renowned training schools and Unis; Sir Alexander Fleming etc. If we have to be macabre, Burke and Hare. When did we become so bloody inept as we appear to be now? And why ? Who benefits when ortho oncologists like mine explain that pre Covid their colleagues did five hip and knee replacements a day and now they can do only three as they don’t have the staff and the waiting lists are getting longer?

All of us know of friends paying for private hips and knees from pensions and savings; we talk at school gates of delays assessing bairns who may be on the autism spectrum – those delays run into almost three years for far too many. That diagnosis has a significant impact in terms of advice and support as well as welfare benefit implications.

I wish to hell Scotland had a reset button; what we could do with a blank canvas. And while the ordinary people of Scotland worry about health care those elected to lead us to Independence, that silver bullet delivering us from evil, are in California, dreaming, space cadets that they are. Others are in New York and Washington munching lobster. Settling down and selling out as fuel debt rises, supermarket shelves empty and faithful good people phone the GP at 8am and hear the recorded message that there’s no appointments left and they should try again tomorrow. 

Tomorrow never comes; let’s create change today. For we fight not for space travel, lobster or Tartan Day, swanky photos and publicity; but only and alone for freedom. And no man or woman gives that up but with life itself. Let’s get the job done, despite them.