Why standing up the NHS is so bad – Susan Morrison

Susan Morrison arrived early for a scan at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary to discover she was to be seen straight away after four people had failed to show up or even call to explain.

When people fail to keep NHS appointments, it delays treatment for others on the waiting list (Picture: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images)

Once my Saturday mornings were a leisurely affair, perhaps waking gently closer to lunchtime, having gone to bed somewhat late the previous evening. In fact, it was actually earlier that very morning.

My little head may have been mildly fuddled, the result of sharing a few light sherries with some close friends, well, people standing close, at any rate.

There was always a quiet moment before my eyes opened, listening to my brain flickering to life like the bridge of the USS Enterprise following a sneaky Klingon attack, damage reports streaming in from various departments, with a warning that something may have to be vented very soon.

These weekend mornings I leap from bed like one of those tiresome girls in Malory Towers, full of vim and vigour and ready to take up the hockey sticks against arch-rivals, St Kentigern Girls.

So, these Saturday mornings it’s rise, shine and out the door, and on this occasion, to the Royal Infirmary for a scan.

If the NHS Scotland was a steam launch, she’d be shuddering at full speed. To get back on track before the virus makes merry at any more house parties, patients are being walloped through at weekends and evenings.

I breezed into the Imaging Suite far too early because that’s the sort of person I’ve turned into these days. This wasn’t a problem for me. I know the NHS. I go everywhere with a really big book.

Never got a chance to turn a page. I was greeted like a conquering hero. Come away in, they said. We can see you right now because four people have failed to show up. A further conversation told a similar story, of up to a dozen no-shows recently.

Let that sink in for a moment. That morning alone, four people hadn’t showed up for an appointment, or even called to explain. The NHS doesn’t generally hand out scans for a laugh, so that means that at least four other people didn’t get scanned that day. They must have been at home, living with that horrible buzz of anxiety, like being under constant midgie attack.

It’s bad enough no-showing restaurants, but if you blow out an NHS appointment, it’s not just the people you applauded earlier this year you’re letting down.

Think about those people behind you on that waiting list.

My Avengers superhero moment at the beach did not last long

The scan was an outstanding NHS experience. No need to get into a hospital gown, but I did have to explain why I was wearing my bathing suit.

The nurse appeared to think that I considered it necessary for a CT Scan. No, I said, I’m going swimming, which I thought was the primary reason for wearing a cossie. Especially this one. Naturally, I have purchased the Wrong Thing. This costume is what they call ‘longer leg’. I hated the swimming costumes we wore in my younger days. Cut way too high for me. Now they have suits with, as they say, longer legs. Ideal, thought I, completely forgetting that I have shorter legs. They reach my knees. I look like a 1920s bathing belle. Not in a good way.

She asked which pool I was going to. None, said I, hands on hips like a little buccaneer. Wild swimmer, me. Porty beach.

Right, she said. Behind her mask I knew she was doing that reassuring NHS smile, but her eyes were saying “nutter”.

The tide was out, so I had to walk halfway to Fife, but I did it, and it was splendid.

Getting out was a whole different ball game. Last time I took the plunge, I walked back to the caravan. This time I’d have to change into dry clothes and drive home. No worries. I got good advice on The Wild Ones Facebook page. Big loose sweatshirt and jogging bottoms. Sorted. Still not as easy as you’d think.

Sweatshirt, no problem.

Remember those childhoods on Scottish beaches with your mum trying to get your pants on whilst the sea breeze threatened to whip the towel away? Happy memories.

So. Joggy bottoms, in one hand. Hold towel around waist with other. Don’t forget, sand-covered feet and those pesky bits of wet skin that won’t dry. Also, and very important, make sure you shield the world, especially small children, from accidentally glimpsing your unleashed bahookie.

Right, I thought, let’s do this. And YES. I stood up straight like an Avengers superhero only to realise they were on back to front and I’d forgotten to put my pants on.

No way I was doing that again. No, I thought. No-one will notice, or even care. Would Ruth Ginsberg have given a fig? No. I strode to my car, started home and then started to worry about having an accident and having to explain why I was wearing no knickers and had my jogging bottoms on backwards. I drove very carefully.

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