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Well, that was the first evidence of chaotic incompetence in the NHS in my brief series of encounters therewith.
After a client meeting in the morning[1] and a trip to Ikeal[2], we went in to the Eye Hospital for my appointment. I was seen pretty much straight away to have a quick vision check; the nurse said she would find my MRI results, bung ‘em in the back of my file and pass that on to whoever was going to see me.
So, we sat and waited for a bit. After that bit, the doctor appeared, with a senior nurse of some description (I don’t do uniform recognition) only to inform us that, nearly two weeks after the scan, the radiologist at BRI hadn’t signed the damned thing off. And had also buggered off out of the hospital.
Since the MRI results were the entire reason I was at the Eye Hospital at all, this was a little vexing. The doctor invited us in for a chat anyhow, to talk about what the results, when they finally materialised, would signify. Or not. It seems that current research suggests that a positive result would predict an approximately 50% chance of an MS episode of some sort in the next 10 years; a negative result (from my base point) would indicate a 25-28% chance of the same - not what I’d call a particularly reliable indicator, then.
While we were talking, the nurse appeared: it seems the errant radiologist had been tracked down and, with luck, we’d get the results in a half hour or so. We wandered off to sample the delights of the newly reconstructed bus station (can you feel the visceral excitement of life in the heart of Bristol here?). After another short wait on our return, the doctor called us back in: yes, I do have lesions; these either being indicative of MS or possibly maybe not.
He’s referred me for an appointment with a neurologist, for whatever good that might do, but that isn’t likely to materialise for months. I reckon I’ll just pootle along as before: there’s not really a lot of point in agonising over something that still has a 50% chance of never even happening and, in any case, the only thing I’m aware of that increases the odds of an episode, should I actually have MS, is stress. So worry is contraindicated, I think.
We consoled ourself with a brief book fix in Waterstones (3 for 2 is a dangerous thing[3]), and Whittards for some Russian Caravan tea[4] and succeeded in hitting the rush hour at its height. Took us the best part of an hour for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ramtops to drive the six miles home; people do this every day... Mad.
[1] we were sacked. Actually, that’s unfair; they’re spending the year migrating their web presence to an offshoot of their new CRM system - we’ll actually be doing a fair bit of work for them to help manage and stage that migration.
[2] rugs for the hallways; rather fine bright scarlet rugs with yellow stripes. Some bed linen. A corner shelf unit. Nightlights. Andramtops found me a little bottle of Elch Blut, complete with a MOOOOOSE!!!! head top.
[3] a bit of a Neil Gaiman fest: Anansi Boys, Stardust and Smoke and Mirrors. Also Singularity Sky, Sophia McDougall’s Romanitas which might be crap but looks quite fun, and A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian.
[4] don’t like it much on its own, but mixed 50/50 with Lapsang Souchong it’s wonderful.
[ETA minor fixen as pointed out to me byramtops - an errant apostrophe(’) amongst them; I hadn’t realised I was that debilitated]
After a client meeting in the morning[1] and a trip to Ikeal[2], we went in to the Eye Hospital for my appointment. I was seen pretty much straight away to have a quick vision check; the nurse said she would find my MRI results, bung ‘em in the back of my file and pass that on to whoever was going to see me.
So, we sat and waited for a bit. After that bit, the doctor appeared, with a senior nurse of some description (I don’t do uniform recognition) only to inform us that, nearly two weeks after the scan, the radiologist at BRI hadn’t signed the damned thing off. And had also buggered off out of the hospital.
Since the MRI results were the entire reason I was at the Eye Hospital at all, this was a little vexing. The doctor invited us in for a chat anyhow, to talk about what the results, when they finally materialised, would signify. Or not. It seems that current research suggests that a positive result would predict an approximately 50% chance of an MS episode of some sort in the next 10 years; a negative result (from my base point) would indicate a 25-28% chance of the same - not what I’d call a particularly reliable indicator, then.
While we were talking, the nurse appeared: it seems the errant radiologist had been tracked down and, with luck, we’d get the results in a half hour or so. We wandered off to sample the delights of the newly reconstructed bus station (can you feel the visceral excitement of life in the heart of Bristol here?). After another short wait on our return, the doctor called us back in: yes, I do have lesions; these either being indicative of MS or possibly maybe not.
He’s referred me for an appointment with a neurologist, for whatever good that might do, but that isn’t likely to materialise for months. I reckon I’ll just pootle along as before: there’s not really a lot of point in agonising over something that still has a 50% chance of never even happening and, in any case, the only thing I’m aware of that increases the odds of an episode, should I actually have MS, is stress. So worry is contraindicated, I think.
We consoled ourself with a brief book fix in Waterstones (3 for 2 is a dangerous thing[3]), and Whittards for some Russian Caravan tea[4] and succeeded in hitting the rush hour at its height. Took us the best part of an hour for
ramtops to drive the six miles home; people do this every day... Mad.[1] we were sacked. Actually, that’s unfair; they’re spending the year migrating their web presence to an offshoot of their new CRM system - we’ll actually be doing a fair bit of work for them to help manage and stage that migration.
[2] rugs for the hallways; rather fine bright scarlet rugs with yellow stripes. Some bed linen. A corner shelf unit. Nightlights. And
ramtops found me a little bottle of Elch Blut, complete with a MOOOOOSE!!!! head top.[3] a bit of a Neil Gaiman fest: Anansi Boys, Stardust and Smoke and Mirrors. Also Singularity Sky, Sophia McDougall’s Romanitas which might be crap but looks quite fun, and A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian.
[4] don’t like it much on its own, but mixed 50/50 with Lapsang Souchong it’s wonderful.
[ETA minor fixen as pointed out to me by
ramtops - an errant apostrophe(’) amongst them; I hadn’t realised I was that debilitated]
