#THANK YOU NHS

Being a 50s baby I know little of life before the National Health Service except what my mother told me.  She lost her own mother to breast cancer a decade before I was born, so I never met Granma Ward.  I am now many years older than she was when she died.

According to Mum, Granma Ward was a very private person and didn’t even tell her daughters about the lump until it had started causing her real problems.  It never occurred to her to visit a doctor.  The family had been very poor during the Depression and the habit of not spending money had stuck.  It also took some persuading to get her to show such an intimate part of her body to a stranger, even a medically qualified one.

When a Consultant finally deigned to see her his diagnosis and reaction was “Immediate surgery.  Thirty shillings consultancy fee please.”

The cancer was far too far gone, and presumably spread, for surgery to make any difference.

Mum never forgot, or forgave, the attitude of the Consultant.

She also made sure we were taken to the doctor whenever anything went amiss, whether we wanted to or not, and that we followed all instructions and took medication as prescribed.

So I would like to thank the NHS for:-

Caring for me and mine through childhood illnesses.

Removing my tonsils and adenoids.

Pinning back my batwing ears:  when I was six our GP told my mother “A girl can’t go through life with ears like that!”

Giving my mother “a complete repair down there” when I was 12.

Removing my father’s gall stones, years of painkillers for his arthritis and two hip replacements.  When he was 64 Dad had a major heart attack: the care he was given gave him thirty more years of life, mostly active and independent.

The ileostomy given to my first husband, Phil, when a tumour was found in his bowel; which gave us six good months before the cancer came back in his liver.

The care given to Phil, and me, during his last months, days and moments.

Removing my wisdom teeth, gall bladder, the birth of my two boys and various reassuring investigations.

The pills given to my current husband Fester for his gout and hypertension and the breathing machine which decreases his snoring and gives us both a better night’s sleep.

The peace of mind of knowing that, unlike my grandparents and so many people in other parts of the world, if my boys, Fester or I become ill then we can go to the doctor without the fear of financial ruin.

During the past decade half a dozen of my friends have been diagnosed with cancer of the breast, womb or prostrate.  They have all received treatment and they are all still here.  Some have finished treatment and are just getting regular check-ups.  One is having an operation in a few days thanks to a lump discovered by a routine mammogram.  One has been receiving radiotherapy and chemotherapy for most of that time and has reached the stage where the cancer is simply being held at bay. 

None of them has had to worry about the cost. 

None of them has been treated with the cavalier disrespect inflicted on my Grandmother.

This is why I love, support and am immensely grateful for the National Health Service.