A trip to A&E

“These things are sent to try us” is a phrase I often hear, and one which was very appropriate today. Since Becs’ surgery a few weeks ago I have been running the house, juggling work, school runs, after school clubs and dog walks. Every engine needs fuel and mine has been a mix of red wine and coffee but it felt like everything was under control even if I wasn’t quite sure what day of the week it was at any one time. But here we are after over a month of me being in charge and the house is still standing and I had managed not to lose any children or animals (but maybe my sanity!) Go me… I’ve got this!

“How did you get those marks on your legs” I asked Victoria as I put her to bed last night. She didn’t know but she bruises easily and plays football at lunchtimes so I just assumed she had taken a ball to a cold thigh which had left a mark. She could neither confirm nor deny this which is nothing unusual. The number of times she has hurt herself in the past and we have to play a very long drawn our game of charades whilst we try to work out which bit of her is hurting and how it happened! So off she went to sleep as I went off to cook another ready meal (I told you I’ve got this!). I’m not the type of person to panic over every cut, graze or mark on the girls and generally take a “she’ll be fine” attitude to things. And I always say to Becs that if something needs panicking about then I will panic, but until then it will all be fine and no panicking is required.

This morning I panicked.

Last night’s football print had turned into 2 large rashes, one on each thigh. Large rashes that didn’t fade under the pressure of a vodka glass. Other glasses are available but the vodka glass is very good in times of emergency. Shit.

After dropping Emily at school and being unsuccessful in our attempts to call the doctors’ surgery I went straight to the most trustworthy of medical diagnostic tools – Google. Luckily for me the first hit was the NHS site – if the NHS says I need to worry then I need to worry. The NHS site says that when faced with a rash that doesn’t fade under pressure you should call an ambulance or go to A&E. Shit. It really was time to panic.

The drive through the lanes to our local A&E was something to behold; a journey that Colin McRae would have been proud of. I kept forgetting that every bump and pothole was pretty uncomfortable for my post-surgery wife as I bounced around the lanes like a rally driver possessed, whilst Victoria sat in the back seemingly oblivious to what was going on and only really worried about being late for school.

Car parked and off we march to the A&E entrance. Now I know a hospital is there to perform a specific role of fixing broken people, but knowing the reasons why people might be arriving at A&E could be pretty traumatic and stressful I would suggest that the last thing you want to be faced with on walking through the door is a couple of security guards who were obviously made redundant from a nightclub during COVID. Understandable on a Friday night when the pubs kick out maybe, but at 9am on a weekday morning? They stood behind a sign that clearly stated that we must wait until beckoned forward by said security guards who it would appear had lost the power of speech and simply grunted and pointed in the direction of the lady at a desk just inside the door. He was obviously a very intelligent security guard as he was able to fetch us face masks and signal to us to put them on without speaking an actual word of English. So here I am worried about my daughter, completely out of breath and unable to see a thing (glasses don’t work too well with face masks) as I am being tested with difficult questions such as my daughter’s name and date of birth. Stop asking me questions and just get a doctor!

So far, so normal in post-COVID Britain. And then, as we are about to walk through to the waiting area the words are uttered from desk-lady’s mouth: “Only one parent can go in”.

Wait, what? No explanation. Just a robot repetition: “Decide which parent is going in”.

As calmly as I could I explained that Victoria has autism, my wife is recovering from surgery and we would both need to be with her to keep her calm and support her during what for any child would be a bit scary, but for a little girl with autism who was expecting to be in school right now this is and would continue to be a pretty traumatic experience.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t listen. Security guy stepped forward and I stepped back leaving Becs and Victoria to head into the waiting room without me. Getting V seen to was more important than the rights and wrongs of this and I could have that battle at another time.

As it turns out, I now had some time on my hands so I headed to reception in the main hospital and asked to speak to someone about not only the treatment received from robot lady and her sidekick knuckle dragger, but about the policy itself. Unfortunately it seems you can only make complaints after 10am as nobody is around to listen to them until then. The complaint would need to wait for another day.

Meanwhile, Becs and Victoria went from the near-empty waiting room that I wasn’t allowed to go in to a room where Victoria was examined by a very good, empathetic doctor. He wanted to take a full set of bloods for testing so the standard position was assumed with a child that is likely to thrash about in distress; the child sits on your lap facing you whilst you hug them so they can’t see what is going on and are unable to move too much. Becs isn’t even meant to lift a kettle at the moment and yet because I wasn’t allowed in she now had to lift an 8 year old onto her lap. A nurse did assist with this but again a completely unnecessary challenge for all which would have been avoided by allowing me in with them.

It wasn’t long at all before Becs was called and asked to return to the doctor for the results, so off they went whilst I sat in the coffee shop to start writing this post because like before, under no circumstances could 2 parents be with their daughter to hear the results of her tests. It wasn’t long though before they returned to confirm that V had been given the all clear from any of the dozens of conditions and viruses that has run through our heads over the previous few hours. True to form, Victoria explained as best she could that it was all ok and she wasn’t scared (classic masking) but also true to from she just wanted to get back to school as quickly as possible. I’m sure many kids in her position would have taken full advantage and spent the rest of the day on the sofa eating ice cream but not Victoria; getting back to her routine was the most important thing right now.

The rest of the day continued without incident with the girls having their swimming lesson after school as normal before heading to bed. Which left me pondering:

• I hate rules that are there for the sake of it and cannot be bent to accommodate genuine need. A person with a learning disability needing both parents isn’t a big ask is it?
• When I was a kid Tomorrow’s World showed me how robots would take our jobs away in the 21st century. Nobody realises they also have, at the door to A&E at least.
• I have absolutely no idea how Victoria feels about what happened at hospital today. She can’t tell me but the small amount she does say on the subject (eg giving us a running commentary of how brave she was today) tells me that it is playing on her mind. And if it is playing on her mind, other things she should be doing (learning, playing etc) are not her main priority when they should be.

It will be interesting to know the hospital’s response to the email I am about to send them on this subject, and whether my MP has any interest in this. At the end of the day this is just another of the thousands of small but significant issues that build up to make the world less accessible than it should be for people like Victoria. But something I can’t and won’t simple accept.