No doctor in the house?

I have moved about a fair bit during my life and so I've been registered at several different surgeries. The first GP that I remember was Dr Mogg, fat, jolly and as an added bonus, he could do conjuring tricks, which was a welcome distraction when you were in his surgery to have a dreaded injection! Elder Daughter commented recently that she was amazed at the low standard of GPs I had been treated by over the years. This was when I was enthusing over our latest 'find', whom we registered with a couple of years ago when Dad moved up here.

The surgery was open all day, had four GPs, all equally good, and the care we have received there has certainly been better than anywhere else I have been. Where else would your GP ring you at home at 7.50am to tell you the result of a recent blood test or happily do a home visit of his own volition just to check up that Keith's recent excruciating back pain had begun to respond to the pain medication he had prescribed? 

It is inevitable, however, that all good things will eventually come to an end. Unfortunately, although Keith and I are still registered at this wonderful practice,  the doctors aren't.

Like several other practices in North Wales, the doctors, all partners, decided in March that they did not want to carry on and would hand the practice over to the health board at the end of September.  Work load, surfeit of paperwork, ever-decreasing support from the local health board? Who knows? Betsi Cadwalladr University Health Board (BCUHB) - yes, there really is a health board with that name - has been in special measures for the past couple of years and, like turning a super tanker around on the open seas, it takes time to improve a large organisation. 

Still, all was not entirely lost. I learned from a fellow patient that Dr B, our GP had assured him that he 'wouldn't go until he knew things were settled'.

The next letter we received was to tell us that there would be a meeting for anyone who wanted an update on developments. This was conducted by a rather unsatisfactory 'someone' from the health board (who is not local and lives in Warrington, but let's not hold that against him), who could not or would not raise his voice to an acceptable auditory level, in spite of numerous complaints that people couldn't hear him.

According to him, there will be lots of 'other' staff - nurse practitioner etc - and the receptionist will point us in the right direction when we wish to make an appointment (Think steering as many people as possible away from the doctor and towards other staff, whether that's what you want or not). And on the subject of replacement doctors, well he 'couldn't say' exactly but it looked as if there would be one GP who would also have experience in manning the outfit and there may be another one too. One of the original GPs may come back part time and doctors from other surgeries may be able to fill in the gaps. Oh, and there would probably be some locum doctors - just to begin with, you understand.

A lot of 'may be', which translates into a lot of uncertainty, which then seemed a lot more uncertain when we learned from someone working at the practice that the 'other GPs' have now backed out and Dr B has in fact already left, to be followed very soon by two of the others.

Given that we are all potentially only minutes away from needing medical assistance, it doesn't fill me with confidence to learn that I am now apparently without a GP.

Let's hope we don't get ill any time soon, and if anyone knows of any GPs looking for jobs, please direct them to North Wales!

Turmeric and arthritis

A few weeks ago, I came upon this post from 'Julia's Place' about the possible benefits of turmeric on arthritis,so I decided to add turmeric capsules to my daily list of herbal odds and ends and see what might happen. As it was, I was being woken at night, not just by Keith's snoring, but by occasional knee and hip pains and getting out of bed in the morning was a creaky experience, to say the least. Managing the journey down the stairs, first thing, was taking ever longer too. The dogs sleep on the landing at night and, if I am first up, they precede me down the stairs, full of energy to start the day, but it had got to the point where Toby did about six laps up and down the stairs during the time it took me to go from top to bottom once, although after that, the lubricating oil starts flowing and movement  gets better through the day.

So, after only a couple of weeks taking turmeric capsules, I have to say, I have certainly noticed a difference. Obviously it hasn't been a miracle cure, but my knees and hip are certainly feeling better and more able to do the job they should be doing,  and  although  Keith's snoring still wakes me at times, my joints no longer do.

Now, although that is what I call a great result for me. unfortunately, it doesn't seem to have had the same result on Keith's ankle. Why this is, I don't know, but we'll keep trying.

 

Toilet/cottage for sale

This morning, I came across this article during my web-trawling.


It is a current trend to close public conveniences across North Wales, and other areas of the country, no doubt, because councils view it as a convenient way to save money. (You see what I did there?) This goes hand in hand with an expressed desire to encourage people for the rest of the world to visit Wales. One of the stated aims on this website is


'to adopt a customer-focused approach which understands and responds to market needs'.


Well, I don't know about you, but one of the things I view as pretty essential on a day out is somewhere reasonable to answer the call of nature and no, this does not include a hedge or nettle patch, which will be the only alternative in many places, if this policy of closing toilets continues. I have blogged before about the short-sighted custom of having public toilets closed on bank holidays, and that was back in 2004. At the current rate of closure, there will soon not be any left, open or closed, and that must surely have an impact on tourism and, as usual, it will be the disabled, elderly and people with children who will be hardest hit.

So, local councils of North Wales, what do you think people are going to do instead?

I leave it to your imagination, but the end result may not be pleasant!

Friends across the Pond

No, I'm not talking about friends in the USA, but in Canada, near Toronto, to be precise. Dale started his blog (now defunct) at about the same time as I started mine, 2004. It was called 'Musings from Mimico' and was full of beautifully written, reflective, often humorous posts, which I enjoyed reading and commenting on. He joined the list of 'Blogs I like to visit' on my sidebar and I joined his.

Fast forward to this summer and Dale and I were finally able to meet face to face, as he, his wife Colleen and daughter Ivy, made a trip over here, to spend a week in Wales, a week in the Lake District and a week in Scotland, where Colleen's family originated.

It's quite intriguing, meeting someone with whom you have been on 'writing terms' for so long. You have read and commented on things they have written about their lives, interests, travels, work and sometimes, problems, and they have done the same, so you have built up a friendship already and you feel as if you know that person pretty well. 

So, the time we spent together was filled with talk, laughter, catching up, asking questions and even, Dale got to have a tour round Keith's famous shed workshop! 

Even so, there were still so many things we didn't get round to talking about. Twelve years to catch up on is a lot of catching up! Maybe next time ...

When Colleen takes photos, she means business - with a tripod and remote control. 

 And here we all are!
(How did it happen that the men are sitting and we are standing?)

Paddy and Toby loved their Canadian neckerchiefs.

However, Toby did hear Colleen say that he was welcome to visit 'any time'. He is still waiting on the doorstep with his red spotted handkerchief on a stick over his shoulder ...

Maybe I'd better tell him to come back inside.

The power of Twitter

Since early June, the playing field at the back of our house has been sadly neglected. Rumour has it that the Council suddenly discovered that there was no longer enough money to cut the grass - anywhere. Twitter was full of tweets from locals complaining that grass verges, playing fields and other public spaces were growing wild, which in some cases, was potentially dangerous, as there were places where pulling out from a side road onto a main road was akin to playing Russian roulette, because it was impossible to see oncoming traffic over the grass on the verges.

Having tweeted myself to the Council about the parlous state of the playing field near us, and received no response, I decided to phone them instead. 

"If you were to put a small child down in that field," I said in my best deputy head voice, "You would have difficulty finding it again!"

The man on the other end of the phone remained unmoved and unconcerned.

"Well, I expect it's because of the cut-backs," he said. "I'll pass on your concern, but I don't know if it will do any good."

He was right. It didn't. Since then, the grass has been cut  just once, by a machine so small that it had a similar effect to cutting a lawn with a pair of nail scissors.  Even Toby got tired of having to jump around the field instead of charging round in circles, as he normally does.

At the same time, someone had decided that the only remaining refuse bin on the field could no longer be used to deposit bags of dog poo. They had already removed another bin some time ago, and according to one of the council workmen, they wanted to 'encourage' people to take their little plastic bags home with them. I don't think so, mate!
Back to Twitter, where someone had tweeted that the special dog fouling bins in another part of the area had not been emptied for some time and were now overflowing. My question to the Council was, why did that area have special bins and we didn't? The reply was that they no longer supply dog fouling bins, so the general bins can be used instead.

As far as I was concerned, that was permission to do what I had continued to do anyway, and use the general bin for Toby and Paddy's little plastic bags.

And the grass has been cut again. Success!

This deserted town

Several years ago, when Elder Daughter was a student in Sheffield, I remember being in the town centre and commenting on how desolate it seemed. 

"Oh, this is the result of Meadowhall,the new shopping mall," said my daughter.

When I first came to Wrexham, it was a busy, lively market town.

Then, someone decided, in their wisdom, that what it needed was a shopping mall, out of the town centre, where the 'beast market' had been in bygone times, and lo and behold, Eagles Meadow (Dol y Eryrod if you're speaking Welsh) was built to the south east of the town centre.

There were three problems:

1. People expected a covered shopping centre and have been disappointed ever since that it isn't. 

2. No-one bothered to put up any signs in the town centre to tell people visiting the area where it is and that you can, in fact, access it via a footbridge.

3. (This is the worst problem) Many shops decided to up-sticks and move there, leaving empty premises in the town centre. This, combined with the closure of several more, thanks to the recession, has left the town itself looking more like a ghost town. If you don't believe me, take a look at the photos.

The street where these photos were taken is Henblas Street. Yesterday, BHS closed its doors for the final time and soon, the post office will relocate to the first floor of WH Smith. Yes, I kid you not, a town the size of Wrexham will no longer have a post office in its own building.
Yesterday, the local press ran an article about complaints from local businesses about the high business rates in Wrexham, which must also be adding to the problem, but my overall impression is that, if they had set out to deliberately run the place into the ground, the council, town planners etc could hardly have done a better job.
Not everything can be blamed on the recession.

A Mother's Story: Betrayal

A Mother's Story: Betrayal

A true story

Hard to believe but sadly, true. No names, but regular readers will no doubt be able to work this out for themselves.

The 'study'

Now that life is a bit calmer again, I have begun to go through some of Dad's folders of articles, notes etc that are presently stacked up in what I laughingly call the study. I say laughingly because 'cupboard' would be a more accurate description. The room itself is undeniably tiny and to make matters worse, is crammed with two bookcases, a filing cabinet, desk and swivel chair, clothes airer and Keith's fat machine. Yes, you read that correctly. This is a large machine which he bought online in one of his crazier moments, in the (vain) hope that using it would break down excess fat. It doesn't and he hasn't even looked at it for about three years. But every time I suggest getting rid of it to some other idiot interested person, he demurs. Persuading him to dispose of anything - clothes, shoes, holey socks - is like pulling teeth, so if I think I can get away with it, I do occasionally sneak things out when he's not looking. Generally, this works quite well, but this time, I need to be more upfront.

'If we could get rid of the fat machine,' I say, 'I could move the filing cabinet into that corner and be able to get to the built in cupboard without having to move the clothes airer and the swivel chair.'

Sadly, he still remains to be convinced and as it's too big and heavy for me to sneak it out when he's not looking,  this is still a work in progress.

'Slow and steady wins the race' ...

The violence of the elderly?

When I was travelling around on buses in my youth, it was expected that a younger person, and especially children, would get up and offer their seats to older or pregnant adults who were standing. I used to hate doing it, simply because it made me the centre of attention, albeit only for a moment, and I just wasn't keen on that. However, I used to comfort myself with the thought that when I was old, youngsters would do the same for me. It hasn't happened of course, as in I haven't got old yet ...

(Pause for polite agreement) and youngsters, if they even notice you at all, would trample over you in the rush to get where they're going.  Proof of this was brought home to me some time ago in Chester, when a young woman with a baby in a buggy dashed out of a shop and straight across my path, without even seeing me, whereupon, she was mildly chastised by her partner.

"Watch out, you nearly knocked that old woman over!"

They both definitely noticed me when I explained quite forcibly that I was NOT old and did he perhaps need a visit to the optician in the near future? (OK, I didn't say the bit about the optician.)

We 'baby boomers' are not favourably viewed on the whole. We're the ones who 'had it all', which is true to a certain extent. We have been lucky. We grew up in a time when attitudes were changing, jobs were plentiful and, for the first time,  young people had a disposable income and the freedom that went with it.  Now, one of the few advantages of being of a certain age is that we have reasonable pensions, which the next cohort are less likely to have, although any savings we might have will almost certainly be swallowed up  in due course in care costs. 

But when I see this about over 75s being responsible for over half of all physical assaults on NHS staff, firstly, I find it  impossible to believe (think Saturday night in any A&E in the country) and secondly, I can only feel sorry for all concerned; the often confused elderly and the overstretched staff who don't have the time they need to explain things and go at a slower pace to suit the patient. 

Barring accident or terminal illness, we'll all eventually arrive in that land of old age but of course, the politicians, who should be doing all they can to make the experience more manageable, will be cushioned by the private care which their wealth will provide.