Two years is a long time to wait.
My Mum had been waiting for that long, plus a few months more, to have a hip replacement. On Friday past, at long last, the worn bone was removed and replaced.
Really this has been going on for much longer than that. I remember a hip-induced back spasm being reported to me early in the pandemic, nearly five years ago now.
At that time the back was what took the blame and the physiotherapist dished out the appropriate exercises.
Flare up; flare down. Eventually, it became quite clear that something else wasn’t working, and in 2022 Mum’s GP, one of a revolving door of NHS staff she had seen over the years, sent her to the orthopaedic department at Woodend.
A new hip was sorely needed and we spent 24 months waiting for the call, with Mum avoiding dos and events; trips to the theatre. Anything more complicated than sitting in a chair was difficult and might induce further pain.
Simple steps, progressing slowly. The issues make for a quite apt metaphor. It must be said that the standard of NHS care around the surgery itself has been exemplary.
Mum was comfortable and looked after by the brilliant nurses, consultants and the rest of the hospital team.
The team at Woodend, within the Department of Scheduled Admissions, and the orthopaedic team, were marvellous. Everything was easy, which helped with both our nerves.
There was remarkably little waiting around. Checked-in at 11am; check-up and paperwork; quick natter with the anaesthetist about which sedation was best and away she went. The old knackered hip was wheeched oot, and the new shiny hip wheeched in.
Just over 24 hours later she was discharged back into the world, not quite fully mobile yet. Instructions to be followed at home were clean and clear, and delivered by friendly and attentive staff. She is, as I write, once again able to make her own cup of tea, freeing me from at least part of my short-term servitude.
Partially informed by the relief of finally getting this done, we couldn’t be happier with the end product. Here’s hoping it stands the test of time.
The NHS is a wonderous thing when it works
It’s a wondrous thing, this NHS, when it works. But, it’s hard not to feel as if these things shouldn’t happen much more quickly.
The road to getting the new joint has been long and bumpy. Two years on a waiting list, which really has been four years of attempted diagnoses, which stretch back to perhaps seven if you include what now seems obvious early signs and indicators.
A slight limp becomes a large limp and feet that were once straight become misaligned and unsteady. A person balances the pain by compromising their freedoms, by not travelling.
Whitehills is already a small enough place, without journeys being restricted to a 15-minute circumference.
How she continued to go to work is beyond me, but that is of course what is required, because what else is there to do? There are bills to pay. You wait, you work and the hip gets worse. There must be a better way.
For those who can afford private NHS waiting lists are mostly removed
For those who can afford to go private the waiting time is mostly removed, although things still don’t happen immediately. However, crucially the diagnosis time is also drastically reduced. Four years turns into six months.
And this, as I suspect I’m about to find out with Mum, will affect the recovery time.
Building up muscles takes longer when they’ve been idle for a longer period. They’ll recover, a bit at a time, but I desperately wish it didn’t have to take this long.
She’ll be looking forward to getting her independence back and being able to do the basics without pain. Theatre trips, long walks with the dogs and maybe a few holidays are back on.
Next year I’m getting married, and I’m hoping she’ll be able to do a wee bit of dancing at the reception. The legs get a bit wobbly after a few whiskies, so the new part will have to be well bedded in by then. By then maybe the waiting will feel like the distant past, but it’s all tantamount to lost time.
The new UK Government promises us the NHS might be ‘broken but not beaten’, a strange turn of phrase, which suggests it needs restorative surgery itself. Certainly something needs to change.
Two years is far too long to wait for operations to solve problems which have such a major impact on people’s quality of life. Waiting lists must come down. There are lives to be lived. We need to get back on our feet.
If you have been affected by NHS waiting times, get in touch here:
Colin Farquhar works as a creative spaces manager and film programmer in the north-east culture sector
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