What was I expecting? A degree of disciplined efficiency far above the standard that I found. Close attention to the joint and several duty of care favouring the health and relative comfort of Client/Patient. Assurance of minimal risk would have been encouraging .
My appointment first, to see the anesthetist. A busy traffic day in Rennes. No parking space for near half a mile around the hospital. I got dropped off at the entrance whilst my wife found a space for the car. The air was filthy with petroleum fumes, I could feel my body going into biological panic. We are designed to breath oxygenated air, it was in short supply. Moving carefully and slowly to not overtax what little atmospheric support I could glean, I made my way some few hundred yards distance, towards the Cardiology Unit. I found myself on a downward slope , the "air" was getting thicker. The architecture of the complex prevented the wind from dispursing the toxic fumes. Dead space. An atmospheric "heavy gas" sump. The entrance to the Cardiology Unit is on the first floor accessable by a concrete staircase. Strength in my limbs was fading fast.My body was screaming for good air. One slow step at a time. Hanging on to the metal handrail for dear life. I looked up to the entrance, two staff members were I supposed taking their break. A man and a woman quietly chatting, puffing on their vapers. I felt like I was near death and called out for help. "Au secour, assistance s'il vous plait", as well as,"Help". The woman , an expensiveley coiffed silver haired person turned around to look at me.
I have never in my lifetime encountered such a look of disdain and disgust as was portrayed on that womans face. Crawling near parallel to the stairs one step,one more. White knuckled pulling myself upwards. calling with the little air as I dared to spare. I guess I wasn't a pleasant sight. The woman turned away, indicating to the man to take a look, that he duly did. Then after a short discussion they put their vapers away and disappeared into the hospital leaving me to struggle as well as I could. Far from well enough. Reaching the entrance in speachless exhaustion without the muscular strength or energy to open the door, an elderly man and his companion acknowledging my obvious distress, without need for explanation assisted by opening the doors. I took my time he didn't hurry me. A gracious act of patient kindness. I guess he had experience of similar troubles of his own.
My wife had gone ahead of me to organise my paperwork at the reception area.I slumped into a chair regaining a little composure, heart slowing to a less fearsome speed. The anesthetist duly informed me of the coming procedure to be performed a few days later,fibrulation, a small shock designed to clear a supply artery to the heart. He was assuring as best he could without knowing anything about my past medical history, of the minimal risk factor. The meeting lasted only a few minutes. I was finally weighed, worrying to me the fact that I was now a mere seventy kilos, not welcome news to a man of two metres hight. An all time low for me and a major cause for my personal concern.
Time to go, appointment over, the effort of attempting to leave the hospital was found to be too much of a strain. I asked for a wheelchair , zero staff response. My wife eventually found one, it hadn't been maintained in good repair, the footrest was missing. It was a real effort of will to keep my feet from being run over, I wasn't happy. So back into the exhaust sump at ground level. Walking a few yards at a time with the support of my good wife in what felt like an impossible forever journey to the roadside entrance of the hospital. I sat in a bus shelter and waited for Anne-Sophie to return with the car, all the time being smothered by potentially killer fumes.
My next appointment was a few days later for the fibrillation.It was in the early morning ,the air was clearer than on my previous visit. In luck, there was room in the hospital car park. A slow effort to the entrance,I coped . After the paper shuffling was completed at reception I was given a wheelchair and pushed towards the small open theatre where the procedure was to take place. I was parked in the chair just inside the entrance of the room.
Having been told that the Cardiology Department was "one of the best in the country", and that the huge hospital complex was a teaching facility, I was keen to witness and experience the beneficial evidence for my hopeful waning self. Without prejudice, I tend to suspend disbelief until fact is confirmed by personal experience.
From my view just inside the doorway, to the far left I could see staff members presumably on their break in what I believe must be their rest room. "They gotta rest sometime," thinks I. One young female had just emerged into the open theatre. What was noticeable by my beady eye for detail is as follows:
The young woman didn't look healthy. Pallid faced yesterday's plaited hair looking a little deshevelled. Her head hung down with neck almost at right angles to her spine as though she was looking at her shoes. She was having obvious trouble with her nose. I watched. The woman grabbed some paper tissues and proceded to deal with the slimy mucus. I could easily empathise having had the problem myself on occasion. An everlasting sticky snot most difficult to evacuate by mere wiping. She persevered, some of the mess sticking to fingers as she wiped folded then wiped again with the tissue. After disposing of the tissue,throwing it into a waste bin, I figured her next move would be toward the conveniently placed taps. She didn't seem to notice them, perhaps her blocked airways had deprived her of essential oxygen dulling the wits of her slugish demeanour. As she walked away from the ignored hand basin, I was both shocked and surprised, to the extent that I called out, as I would with any child not observing the protocol for good hygene, "Lavez Madame!"
I know my knowledge of the French language is deplorable but I don't believe my directive was incoherent. My voice, I am fully aware, is stentorian when needed akin to a good sergeant's command. The woman didn't seem to notice,"Dull witted all right," thinks I,"she shouldn't need reminding". I called out once more louder than the first time. Perhaps her ears had been effected by the condition of her airways. I know from experience, that may occur. Nonplussed I fired the broadside cannon of my voice at her for a third time, she turned around sleepy eyed and slowly made for the hand basin, she washed. Duty done, I felt no need to agitate further. I resumed my observation awaiting my turn in the queue for the fibrillation.
In a bed before me lay an elderly man by his demeanour it was noticed he was habitually conditioned to breathing through his mouth. A common mistake not condusive to healthy respiration. The poor man was gagging on phlegm blocking his breathing.He was desperately croaking a cry for a sip of water to clear the obstruction. He was completely ignored by the numerous staff members as he fearfully sank into the oblivion of his anesthetic. I said nothing. He was next for the procedure table.
Still waiting by the doorway in a wheelchair, I was once more surprised , this time by a group of staff, newly arrived for their duty I would guess. they had on their outdoor civilian clothing , about five in all. They proceded to kiss and hug the currently working staff in traditional French greeting. "There's a place for that,"thinks I, "certainly not in a hospital theatre." I am English, we don't do that,despite our many flaws. I was insensed and started to complain. We learned about the migration of bacteria and viruses in our first year biology in school. I was barely eleven years old then, I am now in my sixty ninth year with memory still resolutely intact I am glad to note. Plenty of time to forget once I'm dead.
Prior to my attendance at the hospital, I was advised to wash down twice with a prescribed anti bacterial soap. That I had dutifully done. One has good cause I believe to wonder to what extent staff members and outside kissy, huggy visitors do the same. The cordon sanitaire was being breached, I don't believe I was at fault for speaking of it.
I was then approached by a woman dressed in a white dungaree overalls, whom I took to be a supervisor. She seemed extremely angry with me, no matter how hard I tried to explain my reason for concern she merely kept ranting at my face that I should remain silent. Under such confrontation, to my mind most unjust, it is not in my nature to be subjugated to absolute silence by an unreasoning domineering and undiplomatic professional. It is my firm conviction that she would have better served her contract of trusted employment and responsibility by directing her venom in reproach of the staff that she was paid to oversee.
The "supervisor" then stood aside and a male Doctor, identifiable by his exprince Harry beard, I apologise for not recalling his name, inquired as to what the problem may be. I don't believe the points I was making were fully understood. Concurrent to my discussion , broaching the subjects of my concern , the elderly man had been placed on the table where his procedure was to take place. Staff hovering around him, I guess it was just routine, performed by habit for the comfort and convenience of themselves. The young woman whom I had previously objected about, stood over the prone mouth breathing vulnerable patient. Downward pointing nose breathing her invisible aerosol over the prone body. She being ungowned then proceded to scratch at her irritated forearm. Dry skin albeit in minute particles cascading over the elderly man. I became quite angry and pointed out the breach of professional discipline, identifying her as a gross avoidable risk factor to the Doctor. No one amongst the staff, senior or otherwise appeared to notice nor care, least of all the woman herself nor her supervisor.All were more concerned with my objectng to the poor clinical practice. My wheelchair was then unceremoniously turned around and pushed without explanation into a corridor where a staff member was unloading and stacking cardboard boxes of stored equipment I know not what.I sat quietly in thought for a while. Given that I was facing out rather than into the direction of my appointed treatment, I took it upon myself to turn the chair facing the direction from whence I had been pushed. I found myself surrounded by four Pompier used for the hospital's convenience as security enforcers.My objection was purely vocal, none aggressive and well reasoned. The security of the client patient seemed of little concern to any. I felt by accident or by the deliberate design of the critcised staff, unduly intimidated. Still no explanation. I was returned to Dr. Galand where I conversed with both he and the bearded Doctor. I will call him for now,"Dr. Youngbeard" I do hope he doesn't find that too unflattering. My grumbling giffers whiskers are grey and uncut, senior to his but without any but equal status.
I had stern words to say to Youngbeard, Insisting several times that he admit to being the Chef of the unit I had witnessed. It took several times of asking, he seemed reluctant to answer. He did eventually agree. Given that his admission was an accurate representation of the truth. I put it to him that the matters of my complaint had they been applied in another context to the catering industry, i.e. resturaunt, hotel or food processing factory, there would be legitimate grounds for immediate dismissal. Conduct likely to pose unacceptable risk to health and potential grounds in the event of fatality or illness for suits against both company and persons, jointly and severally. Again Youngbeard reluctantly agreed. The medical profession is well known to institutionally close ranks in protection of it's reputation and it's hard working staff. I must assure all I have no personal grudge nor axe to grind against individual nor the hospital as an institution. I have no political leanings in partisan support of any side, left, right or centre. I merely see things my way.
As Chef in charge as senior in rank to all others in his small unit I stressed to Dr. Youngbeard that just as a good professional sergeant is ill advised to cultivate self flattering popularity, he not being in the business of merely being liked by those within his duty of care it would be neglectful if a blind eye was turned towards undisciplined slackness , whether in the armed forces, the catering professions and most certainly in the medical professions. Collateral damage, that is by Winston Churchill's preferred definition, "Dead or injured innocent civilians," is wholely unacceptable.
The notion that as a financially empoverished patient unable to afford private health care, I may be used as an expendable body to practice on , by a clinically irresponible team , did not inspire any confidence in either the faculty nor the "practicing " student body within the teaching hospital. By conduct seen, a gross contradiction of the facility's definative function.
"They will probably blame the patients if they die as a result of the malpractice." thinks I.
If you please, Professor Christophe Leclercq, Dr. Galand, Dr. Youngbeard et al. Take notice. A betrayal of trust has occurred.
Since January the world has been bombarded with news and warnings of the Co.Vid 19 crisis now destined to plague Europe.It is time to start kicking arses and raise the standard a lot higher than the snot rag level of liberal tolerance witnessed in your facility. Being popular with the clinical teams is the least worthy of all considerations, given that by the executive complacency from the top down a great many lives may soon be put in extreme risk beyond the effect that the Coronavirus may impose. Professional reputations may not take priority over patient's lives. Are hospitals to become sickness factories more concerned with protecting careers than protecting vulnerable people from Administrative executive, clinical and medical neglect. What assurance would you give that the clinical shortfall will be or has been firmly taken in hand and rectified. I am not truly interested in whether or not individuals have been reprimanded or dismissed. You may inform me if you feel it is important. That being within your professional initiative to decide. I would appreciate however a qualified statement from the named parties in writing , paper or via the internet a view that is endorsed by all three members in accord and without conflicting opinion obfuscating the ethical policy of the Rennes Cardiology Department. A view with which I may concurr and share with perhaps many thousands of others. You may stand apart in critical judgement of your own wayward standards to date and reestablish a greater degree of trust that will not be compromised.
In this present crisis I have lost all confidence in the Teaching Hospital in spite of being diagnosed as needfull. My reasoning is simply explained.I would rather accept the risk brought upon by the folly of my own life choices and die of natural causes, than risk being technically murdered by the collective undisciplined slackness of clinical neglect. To draw upon a fast food analogy. A customer who complains about the service may be subjected to workers spitting in the food. Being remembered as a rare complainant may put me at greater risk than that posed by my condition. I have since my visit discovered other routes towards my own well being. I am already relieved of the scary stress of Super Ventricular Tachycardia. Spring is with us. My potager will provide the essential excercise. It will also provide the balanced dietry needs inclusive of natural anti conglomerants, in the form of essential herbs. I will maintain my Magnesium suppliments until I have rectified the imbalance in my garden soil. That being also deficiency of Magnesium. cured by a top dressing of Magnesium sulphate or Epsom Salts. The S.V.T. symptoms are greatly relieved now by eliminating restrictive belted or elasticated clothing espescially waist bands. One whole body now unified rather than two halves fighting each other for a share of the blood. Le Laboureur pantalon c'est magnifique.
This open letter will be posted on the internet. I authourise your discussion of my own personal circumstance, necessary, as I hold your right of public reply to be sacrosanct.
This has been an ordeal of single finger typing. I hope I have not wasted my time or yours. Thank you for your attention. Whether or not you are in agreement with me I look forward to reading your response. Further, once the great global health crisis is over perhaps we may share amicable face to face real time conversation in what may inevitably become the Sixth Republic. Great change is upon us. "These are the days of miracles and wonder" I wish you all success in your endeavours.
