I, like other posters
believe that the NHS is something that, as a nation, we should truly be proud of. It's unfair to bitch and moan when, if I were resident of another country, I'd be either unable to afford the necessary care or the level of care provided would be so basic by comparison that I'd be unwilling to undertake it. In addition, I should probably be grateful that this is more or less my only experience of hospitals, having been fairly healthy up until now.

That said, bitching and moaning is precisely what I'm about to do, as I have been in (admittedly intermittent, but entirely unnecessary) agony for the last six months.

I had a gastric band fitted last May. Not by the NHS - I was told there wasn't funding, despite being an ideal candidate under their guidelines. I was healthy, ate well - although too much, obviously, or I wouldn't have been a chubber - and I exercised. Then I came in to some inheritance and thought I'd just go for it - I was sick of being a fat fucker. The op went fine and the weight came off steadily. I felt great - normal for the first time in ages. Then, in September, I woke up one morning with pain in my lower abdomen.

'Weird', thinks I, and thinks no more upon it. For about half an hour. Then it gradually got worse. And worse. I rang NHS direct and they told me not to worry about it, despite being in tears by that stage. Then it got worse again. There was a constant black ache, similar to the sensation you get when you poke a bad bruise or mending-but-recently-broken-bone, but in addition to that, sickening lightening bolts of greasy stabbing agony that left me gasping for breath and unable to move. My boss found me sobbing on the floor of the lab and drove me to A&E like a shot.

I waited six hours. It wasn't even particularly busy. When I finally got called through, I'd been sat still so long that my legs gave way from cramp and the pain of moving. I was seen by a doctor who somehow managed to sound bored and patronising at the same time; he perfunctorarily stuck a finger up my arse and asked me to provide a urine sample. I couldn't; the pain was so bad I hadn't been able to eat that day and I'd been sat in A&E for six hours without anything to drink. (even the vending machine was broken).
Had I taken painkillers, I was asked. No, I'd been unable to eat or drink that day and had been advised not to take ibuprofen - the only painkiller I had on me- on an empty stomach.
Why had I not bothered to eat or drink that day? Because I'm in a lot of fucking pain, you moron, and I was twice refused a cup of water and painkillers when I asked the receptionist at A&E, saying it was against policy. He tutted and wandered off for half an hour.

I managed to squeeze out a tiny wee for him to perform a pregnancy test on, to rule out an ectopic pregnancy. He glanced at my shotglass-worth of wee and told me I was very dehydrated. I felt like throwing it on him and screaming 'I fucking know. I've been sat here for nearly 7 hours and nobody would fucking give me anything to drink'. I didn't say it: I was too sore to shout. He dipped a stick in to my wee, told me I wasn't pregnant and that I was free to go.
'Bu-bu-but. But. But. You haven't DONE anything. I'm still in a lot of pain...' I stuttered. I'd never been unable to believe my ears before - they're my ears, why wouldn't I believe them? - but this had me truly flabbergasted. He sighed resentfully and thrust some ibuprofen at me.
I protested, feebly at first, that you can't take ibuprofen on an empty stomach, to which he scornfully replied: 'what would you know?'. I looked him squarely in the eye and spat back 'I have a degree in Biomedical Science, as it happens, and NSAIDs, of which the 400mg ibuprofen you are offering me is one, can irritate the stomach. Badly. As I'm having a serious episode of abdominal pain, I don't think irritating my stomach is a great idea, do you?'. He stomped off, to be replaced by a nurse who insisted I take them, and that it wouldn't be a problem. I was left in the cubicle for another 45 minutes or so before someone stuck their head round the curtain, and yet again told me I was free to go.

'But the painkillers haven't helped at all; they've just made me feel nauseous in addition to the pain, which coincidentally I AM STILL FUCKING IN.' She flicks through my notes, tells me I'm very dehydrated (yet again, I KNOW, I've been in this cursed place 8 hours by this point and I've barely had enough fluid to wet my mouth) and that I should go home, rest, have painkillers and fluids. She starts to usher me towards the exit, despite the fact that I am barely able to move. I ask her if she's able to give me a prescription for something a bit stronger, as the ibuprofen simply hasn't cut it, and she smiles and tells me she doesn't think it's necessary, before shooing me away. I spent a good 10 minutes in the exit in shock and speechless rage, before trying to make my way home. It took me an hour to walk half a mile. Fortunately, the one mate I have who owns a car managed to take me home. I spend the next four days curled up in bed weeping whilst the agony slowly fades.

Two weeks later it happened again. I managed to get to the out of hours GP service, where I was told I had viral gastroenteritis. I point out to yet another doctor that I have a degree in Biomedical Science, that I have NONE of the symptoms of viral gastroenteritis, and could she go through the differential diagnosis again and come up with something a bit less stupid. She gave me a prescription for fucking ANTIBIOTICS, and when I pointed out to her that they would be entirely ineffective against the virus she thinks I have she got cross and defensive. My sore and sorry sack of guts and I promptly left.

The next time it happened I simply went to my GP and demanded to be referred to a doctor who could tell the difference between their arse and their elbow, and ideally the problem with my guts too.
I was referred to a gastroenterologist and was given an appointment some two months hence. Two months of intermittent agony pass, and I find myself sitting opposite some smug fuck in a swivelling chair, explaining my symtoms. As I lay down on the examining table I mention that I've had a gastric band fitted. He then refused to even examine me, let alone order any tests, until I'd proven that the gastric band wasn't at fault. I protested, arguing that 1) I'd had six trouble free months up until now, and that if there was a problem with my band it would have become apparent sooner; 2) that the pain was not in my stomach but lower down, and that it wasn't affected by eating (or indeed not eating) which you would assume, if it had been a stomach problem, would not be the case; and 3) that I had had X-rays taken of my upper GI tract some 3 months prior as part of my post-op treatment and everything had been fine then. Also 4) what right do you have to withhold investigation and treatment?

He was adamant, however, so I went back to my surgeon, who confirmed that the NHS consultant was a dribbling fuckwit, that he has never seen a gastric band cause the symptoms I'm having, and yes, the pain is in the wrong place for it to be your stomach/gastric band. I relay this to the NHS consultant (omitting the fuckwit part, despite being sorely tempted to keep it in) and wait. And wait. And wait. I start to call fortnightly, then weekly. I have numerous episodes of pain which make my life deeply unpleasant, as nothing I have tried alleviates the pain. Nothing in particular seems to trigger it either, so I can't do anything to avoid it, just endure it when it happens.

Last week I started bleeding, ever so slightly, from my arse. I called the hospital again in hysterics (I know his secretary on first name terms now; we speak seemingly so often that we actually gossip a little) and came home this evening to a letter, three months after I should have received it, saying I'd been booked in for a colonoscopy (camera-up-your-arse-scopy, for those not in the know) and the hospital would contact me with the details of this appointment in due course. Most probably in another month or so. In the meantime, I'm still in pain, still bleeding from an orifice which really shouldn't, and both literally and figuratively shitting myself.

It's probably nothing sinister. I'm probably not dying and I should almost definitely MTFU and be grateful that I'm not living in Zimbabwe and having these problems, but sometimes a lot of information is worse than none at all, and I'm considerably better informed than your average layman. I'm 24, I'm scared and nobody seems to give a fuck. I've been treated with at best indifference and at worst ineptitude, and I hope - I'm sure I am - the exception rather than the rule. Bar one broken leg as a child and one broken shoulder as a teen (which they forget to send me to physio for and is now causing me hassle) this is my only experience of NHS hospitals, so I can't really say for definite.

I'm sure that for a great many people it has been wonderful and it's better than any workable alternative my squishy brain can come up with. But for me I have to say it's been rather shit.
(berk, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 23:04, 3 replies)

this is unacceptable
i hope you've been taking the names of these doctors, because something tells me you're going to have to sue them for medical negligence. one of my best friends had very similar symptoms late last year. they claimed he had gastric flu, or some such nonsense. in fact, he has crohn's disease, which he is now, finally, being treated for. i sincerely hope this isn't what you have, but you need to keep on complaining until you get a satisfactory answer.
btw, i had a gastric bypass 18 months ago. where did you get your band done?
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 11 Mar 2010, 23:54, closed)

It is
unacceptable, however I don't really know what else I can do bar wait. Now I've got the letter confirming they'll see me again, it seems a bit churlish to continue to pester - although of course, if the appointment doesn't come through in what I consider to be due course (ie, fairly fucking sharpish) then naturally I'll give them (yet more) earache.

I had my band done via the hospital group in bromsgrove. they weren't bad actually, although they too tend to need nagging. In ten months I've lost a fifth of my original bodyweight, which isn't too shabby. A bypass is pretty drastic, how've you found it?
(berk, Mon 15 Mar 2010, 18:19, closed)

You may well have post operative adhesions.
These can cause transient obstructive symptoms - colicky abdominal pains that are intermittent, inability to keep anything down, symptoms suddenly appearing or disappearing. Adhesions may occur after any type of abdominal surgery. Unfortunately, the PR bleeding doesn't fit with this. If bright red, it may just be something local such as piles; if altered (black, foul smelling) it is melaena and representative of bleeding from higher up in the gut.

Your doctors are being cocks; the best way to play it is ask if change in bowel habit and PR bleeding are normal, what is the specific diagnosis, and when are you having an abdominal CT...
( da5id <YOUR SIG HERE>, Fri 12 Mar 2010, 0:18, closed)