UNITED KINGDOM HEALTHCARE

Hospital Care? Medication Scare More Like!

What sixteen hours in the local major trauma area taught me

Photo by Ronaldo Pangan on Unsplash

Apart from anything else, it taught me that the NHS care system is quickly going to rack and ruin. Though, as with the recent financial upgrading made to the primary care facility in the area, it has been sad that:

Major work begins on construction of new £91 million state-of-the-art hospital building, developments at the site have been described as a *once in a generation opportunity for the people of Bournemouth and surrounding areas ... the building forms part of the £500 million transformation programme across the University Hospital Dorset’s sites.’* (Bournemouth One. Jul 17, 24.)

Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?

Well, hold your horses, because here’s a different point of view, from a person who’s been in these so-called ‘state-of-the-art hospitals,’ and it started just a few days before this story starts:

Monday 21st July 2025: -

My local pharmacy alerted me that one of my medication suppliers was currently experiencing nationwide stock shortages, and that they were unable to provide this medication for an unforeseen amount of time. My doctor's surgery would be actioning a temporary substitute prescription during this period.

Tuesday 22nd July 2025: -

Morning. I collected the substitute medication. This was different as it was a much lower dosage and needed to be swallowed twice per day, unlike my usual one, a larger modified-release tablet, taken once in the morning. So, a little irregular change but hey… ‘doc knows best, hey?’

But then, the day passed into the late evening: I had started to complain of feeling feel more tired of late, and not something which any of my regular prescription medications made me feel, so before 21:30 I decided to sack the day and go to bed. I awoke around five hours later and needed the bathroom, so that’s where I started to go, except I didn’t get there and, the next I remember was sitting on the bed back in the bedroom, with my wife looking concerned, and a 999 ambulance enroute.

I simply believed that I’d simply woken up from a nice dream, but it became apparent that, after I got up from bed earlier, that I had collapsed in the hallway, heavily banged the side of my head on the wall, and collapsed unconscious on the hallway carpet.

The ambulance responders persuaded me to let them take me to hospital due to the confusional state I was presenting in, citing prominent concussion.

Wednesday 23rd July 2025: -

Early morning. Taken to the emergency department (majors) where I waited sixteen hours in total, minor assessment by the SHO (senior house officer) at hour six, and a considerably basic assessment (honestly, a kid of six could have done it) and the only two questions were asked were, “do you know where you are?” and, “what is your name?”

Suffice it to say though, due to concussion at that point, I was confused and couldn’t answer well, rather surprisingly! So, instead, the doctor in the hospital told my wife over the telephone, later, that she should arrange for an assessment for Dementia…

I kid you not, a child could not make this up!

I only hope the ambulance crew had given them a better handover.

So, here’s the rundown over the next 14 hours, bearing in mind that the first six were waiting for a medic to even see me.

So, laid on a stretcher, I was drowsy, so what did I do, I went to sleep (even a schoolchild knows that if someone is concussed then, NEVER let them go to sleep*** for more than a few hours without waking them***… I was left to sleep until the SHO finally came to assess me after six hours.

Only ten more crazy hours to go…

• Ooh, one set of observations, expecting far more, but none of that ever materialized.
• No cup of tea, coffee, or even a bedside jug of water to drink while being there.
• No offer of basic food during any of the time spent there.
• Asked to go to the bathroom but nobody around to show me or walk me there, so, I got myself up and found it myself after fifteen minutes of wobbly walking with my walking stick; only once asked by a staff member if that stick was actually theirs… not perhaps… ‘are you ok, do you need some help?’

God, can this nightmare get any worse?

Well… yes, it can.

Got back to my bed, well, it was actually a stretcher still, as I still hadn’t been moved to a bed at this point.

Eight hours in and my god, is that a drinks lady pushing a trolley over there? So, I hollered over to her (much to the annoyance of the looks from some of the doctors and nurses, sitting at a brand-new bank of computer terminals in the middle of bay) and when I asked for a sugary coffee, as I was feeling queasy and light-headed, I in fact, got a lukewarm unsweetened cup of tea, as she passed by quickly…

Not even close.

Then, at the ninth hour, the same SHO came over and told me that she needed to put a brace collar on me, until a miraculous decision at this late stage to perform a head scan, before they could remove it again.

Stupid question of course, ‘is it not a tad too late at this point to protect me from further damage from the head trauma’… nine hours after admission, and more than eleven after the ambulance collected me?

Luckily, there was no internal damage, but the collar stays on for a further two hours… hmm, why?

So, hours eleven to discharge. I never even got to chat with a qualified nurse, or as much as a care assistant. The nurses were too busy chatting with the doctors, sat at the posh bank of computer screens, and the care assistants, they flew around like their butts were on fire, they were kept that busy… perhaps if those damn nurses actually got a finger out and helped, those jobs might get done quicker, and patients might even get a cup of coffee too.

I was a nurse far longer than those nurses I saw sitting on their behinds at the desk. What… Was the idea of mucking in with the care staff putting them in danger of getting their pretty blue uniforms dirty?

Finally, I got a discharge, only after I threatened to complain and script this all over the papers… oh dear, the Labour party would hate that one.

Thank God, at sixteen hours, I finally got that discharge.

Well, after I managed to call and book a taxi, although had no money, and was not given any discharge papers to boot, trust me, I was glad to see the back of this so-called ‘new £91 million state-of-the-art hospital building.’

At least my 29-year-old son had hurried home to check on my wife, and paid the taxi fare when it got me home…

Oh, and I got a drink and food back home too.

So much for the crazy amount of money spent on this local hospital.

Appalling care services.

Lack of staff.

Questionable assessment and care provision.

All for the princely sum of just £91 million pounds!

Blimey, I could have had better care at the Butlins resort down the road!

Still, at least there is a beautiful view from the dual carriageway coming into the town right now…. a shiny new facade to the hospital entrance.

ADVISORY NOTE: I’ve just alerted the ‘yellow card’ scheme, in respect of this known prescription medication for its dangerous uncontrolled blood pressure drop.

Celecoxib 200mg

Medicines & Healthcare products Regulatory Agency (MHRA)

Regional Drug & Therapeutics Centre (**RDTC)**

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