The NHS, beautiful nurses, neoliberalism and no cancer!

Yesterday I spent 5 hours in Canterbury hospital to have a bladder examination because for ten years microscopic blood has been found in my urine, and so recently I was advised by a doctor to get this looked into… literally. A camera was entered into my bladder through… well you all have imagination and ideas on how that might happen, right? The main reason was to rule out cancer which thankfully there is none. Time to party hey?!

So there I was at 11:45am sitting in the waiting room awaiting my general anaesthetic and to let the probing begin! It wasn’t just cancer that could have been the issue, there were many ideas and thoughts as to the problem, but of course all someone has to do is mention cancer and your mind can’t seem to let go. Or it would if the guy who was sat amongst us didn’t keep talking about cancer, to which I picked up my bag and moved into the other waiting room, telling him I really didn’t need to hear this… You insensitive fuck!!! He reminded me of another insensitive fuck who once, while sat in an airport lounge before flying home from Pisa, continually talked about planes crashing… I mean, I’m not necessarily scared of flying… but c’mon! Back to the present in the waiting room, I would almost have preferred to hear the TV show another was watching on his mobile without headphones, who clearly thought everyone else waiting wanted to hear. I’ve never understood that behaviour, to have the audacity and arrogance to sit and think everyone is interested in hearing the profound, perspicacious thoughts from the mouths of the TOWIE or Love Island cast.

But I did have the comfort of tuning into the housing show on the TV in the waiting room. I was reminded of the reason why I stopped watching terrestrial TV over 15 years ago. It was not needed in my life… like herpes. I had brought 2 books with me, a book in Italian as I like to study the language and another covering the history of the Israel and Gaza situation, but both proved a little tasking for the environment. And after a little scrolling through social media, around 3 minutes, sometimes having a low attention span is good, it means you move onto more worthwhile pursuits, I just sat back and watched the wheels of the hospital turn around.

In the UK we are unbelievably lucky to have the NHS. It is an incredible institution. If I was to wave a flag about, that would be one of the things I’m proud of. The nurses were just so calming, reassuring and pleasant, all the personality traits you could wish for in people that are essentially taking care of you and easing you through what could be a hard, tense and possibly frightening situation. This is what makes this country great. This real pulling together. No one goes into nursing for money. I have first-hand experience from an ex-partner who was studying nursing. You don’t go into that line of work to be rich. It’s a vocation. These are the true heroes of Britain. And if you don’t agree, wait until you’re having to visit for some form of health scare and if you’re lucky enough to not have Nurse Ratched nursing you, you will appreciate the humanity, the love they bring to the vocation.

And so I sat there for 5 hours, occasionally pacing, thinking of jokes. I always write comedy in these situations. Best to bring humour to the table at times like these. And then finally the nurse came down and asked out loud for a… Kai Motta. The chill factor went up a few notches but I needed to go through with the procedure and know the results.

We strolled to the theatre and he, like all good nurses in this situation, asked me questions to keep my mind occupied before we entered the theatre and I was introduced to the 5 people involved.

‘Can I take your shoes and your pants please. Sorry.’ One of the team asked, obviously knowing for some this could be a little humiliating and mortifying.

‘Sure. I’m not worried about dignity, I lost that years ago when I played the London music scene.’ And whipped them off. I was born naked, and have enjoyed it ever since.

I laid on the bed and they started wrapping blood pressure tools around my arms, attached the cannula, covered me in a sheet and then the very beautiful anaesthetist put the mask on my face.

‘You know downstairs I was asked a few times what religion I am. I said atheist. But after 5 hours with a fucker who kept talking about cancer and the walk up to here, I believe I’ve started a theological conversion.’ I said jokingly.

She smiled and then said just breathe in the air and relax. I laid back and inhaled the air.

‘Will I go out soon?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes.’

And then the taste of the gas entered my lungs and the sweet sleep of a general anaesthetic enveloped me…

I awoke from the most peaceful sleep I’d had in years, probably since the last general anaesthetic I’d had and a very sweet woman asked me how I was. I told her it was amazing and then quickly checked the family jewels. I was petrified of waking with a catheter, but thankfully all was well apart from a little blood.

‘Don’t worry about the blood it’s just part of the procedure, and by the way I think everything is fine.’

‘No cancer?’

‘No, as far as I know. The surgeon will be around.’

‘Thank you.’ Were these nurses sent from the Gods?!

I laid there and watched the nurses move around the beds helping each person and just smiled with a little discomfort given that the team had just looked in my bladder with a camera. I just hope it hadn’t been a Hasselblad.

‘Everything is fine with you. If you find blood next time don’t worry about it.’

‘So no cancer?’

‘No nothing. When you’re ready you can go home.’

‘Thanks Doc.’

‘One question: Why are you covered in paint?’

‘I’m an artist. I was painting last night. Didn’t get time to fully wash it all off.’

‘Ah okay, interesting.’

‘Cheers.’

I slowly got dressed and went to the toilet. Fuck that STINGS!!!!! And then returned to my bed awaiting for my cannula to be removed while munching on the sandwich, crisps and other comestibles I’d been given until another very loving nurse came in and spoke to me with her mellifluous accent.

‘Where are you from?’ I asked.

‘The Caribbean.’

‘Ah how lovely, so why are you here in Canterbury?’

‘For a different environment.’

‘I repeat my question, so why are you here in Canterbury?’

‘A little change. I like it here.’

‘I’m just kidding. I’ve never been there.’

‘I will take you there.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, the next time I see you.’

‘I can live with that!’

‘So what do you do?’

‘I’m an artist. Would you like to see some of my work?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Let me find it on my phone.’

‘Oh my, you are a proper artist!’

‘Yes, maybe I should take you to the Caribbean?’

‘I think you should!’ She said in her euphonious accent.

I hated to leave but I was shattered and needed my bed. I wished her well and said my thank yous as I made my way out of the hospital and fantasised about a life in the Caribbean. My hospital experience made me think of the direction of the country and its neoliberal desires. It was no secret that the higher rungs of the social echelon were dying to privatise the whole system and were slowly at it through stealth and spin, and this would be true devastation to the country. One only has to visit or read about the American health system to know we don’t ever want that. It’s so important that the British public don’t allow this to happen. It will be a terrible loss.

And worse, I may never get to the Caribbean.