So that loyal readers of The New Conservative do not have to, your intrepid correspondent test drove the UK National Health Service (NHS) this week.
To set the scene, I faked a medical emergency at home by collapsing into an incoherent heap over the dining room table. Apparently my acting was so good that my oldest daughter, a critical care specialist, thought I was going to expire. Before continuing, could I issue a plea to readers not to tell my family the truth as I am lapping up the attention. I get to lie in bed in the morning, cups of tea appear miraculously, I am no longer expected to go to the gym, and I get driven everywhere. I am planning my next ‘incident’ in a few weeks’ time.
Anway, an ambulance was duly called, they ran a few tests and, much to my consternation, actually found that I had something minor wrong with me. I was taken to Accident & Emergency and was through triage like a dose of salts. The consultant decided I was in pain and prescribed me codeine. Boy is that a blast! I feel like I am floating on air, I have never slept so well, and I even get up in the middle of the night to pop a couple of pills. They ought to make this stuff available on the NHS.
But all is not well in the NHS, and I do have some complaints. In triage I was given a wrist band to wear which, in addition to my NHS number, name and date of birth also said ‘Male’. I find it hard to believe that such an assumption was made and that I was given no opportunity to affirm my current gender status. I actually woke up that morning feeling a bit ‘two spirit’ with a hint of cat gender. Clearly, my right to proclaim my proclivities was overridden by some heartless bureaucracy. I feel a letter of complaint to the chief executive coming on.
But you’ve heard nothing yet. As part of the myriad tests they run, the consultant performed an ultrasound scan of my aorta and my bladder. Unbelievably, and I know I probably stretch credibility at this point, he failed to check whether I was pregnant. Once my letter of complaint reaches the General Medical Council, I think his right to call himself a doctor will be curtailed forthwith. What do they teach these folk at university?
It must be obvious to the Department of Health that not enough is being spent of matters of diversity and inclusion. During my short stay in hospital, I saw millions of pounds worth of equipment in use: scanners; X-ray machinery; state of the art ambulances; and cupboards full of medicines. They also seemed to have plenty of staff on duty as everyone was being attended to.
Surely this is all just a waste of money if they are not going to get the basics right – i.e., checking how people self-identify and assuming that anyone, no matter which gender they identify as, could have a womb? Official figures reveal that the NHS spends a pathetic £40million annually on only 800 diversity officers. This equates to one diversity officer for every 175 beds in the NHS – ideally there should be more. After all there are 2.5 nurses per bed in the NHS, and who needs them?
Would it be too much to ask that we at least increase the number of diversity officers to one per bed? Although that might still not be enough. Those of us campaigning for the rights of the gender fluid will not rest until every ambulance arrives with a driver, a paramedic and an emergency diversity officer. That is the only way we can avoid situations such as the one I faced, and ensure that nobody slips through the net in future.
So, the outcome of my encounter with the NHS was that the medical and nursing care was good, but I am only slowly recovering from the psychological trauma of being misgendered. I am told by my diversity coach that these things take time to get over, and that the best approach is to sit about all day wallowing in self-pity, making sure as many people as possible know about it. One day, there will be justice; meantime, there is always codeine.
Roger Watson is a retired academic, editor and writer. He is a columnist with Unity News Network and writes regularly for a range of conservative journals including The Salisbury Review and The European Conservative. He has travelled and worked extensively in the Far East and the Middle East. He lives in Kingston upon Hull, UK.
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