Hello, sorry I haven’t written
any blog entries in a while, life’s been rather busy over the last few
months. However I now have some time to
dictate a new entry for the blog. Yes
dictate. Due to an injury to my right
hand I now have a cast over it and am under strict instructions not to use the
hand. Hence my writing looks like that
of a child, with me having to my left hand, and typing is becoming slow and
laborious. Therefore I have chosen to go
back to something I did over a year ago, getting my computer to take down what
I say. The technology’s better than what
it was last year, with only a few corrections needed, and I’m having to inform
it as to when I want punctuation –so please excuse any mistakes I’ve missed out. Conveniently it is also significantly faster
than typing with a little practice.
I should probably update you on
the last few months and what has been going on.
In July, as many of you will
know, I return to the UK for my sister’s wedding and The Great Yorkshire
Show. I’ll give you a full round up of
my trip in a later entry, as there is quite a lot to tell and it deserves its
own post. Not to mention that some of it
might want running past my sister first!
August was a month of calvings! Over 22 by the end I believe. My recording system wasn’t perfect, either in
my notebook or on Facebook. Those of you
who have been following me via facebook will, I’m sure, know that I was noting
down each of the calvings giving each a number and describing them in the
metaphor of pizzas. I hope this didn’t
put too many of you off pizza, it was either that or put you off all food with
descriptions of what are the worst calvings can be like. Instead I decided to save them all for
another blog post!
And finally September. The events of September really started on the
last day of August. However what
happened that day has affected every day since and will continue to affect me
until at least the 31st of October.
As of this seems the most pressing topic, but also one of some interest,
I will address it in this post.
Once upon a time (11:30 AM 31st
of August 2015) in a land far far away (or not, kind of depends on where you
are) I was enjoying my typical lovely morning routine, once more trying to
wrestle a small cow out of a big cow, while standing in mud, wind blowing in my
face, and swearing like a Scotsman. By
this point we had been there for some time and were making slow but good
progress. As this was all going on I
noticed one of my knives was out of its sheath and on the grass. Thinking of my safety and of the safety of
those around me I picked it up by the handle to move it out of the way. However, my hands at this point were covered
in a mixture of calving lube, pregnancy juices, cow dung, and mud, causing the
knife to slip slightly in my hand. As it
was, with this being a knife I had a recently sharpened, this was enough to
cause a small cut in my little finger, and an even smaller one in my ring
finger. I instantly dunked my hand in
the large bucket of antiseptic solution we had several times before going to
look for a plaster. It was at this point
that I realized that I could not bend the first joint of my little finger. I had severed a tendon.
Having been bandaged another vet
who was conveniently close by came to finish the job for me whilst I ran myself
down to the local doctors. Here the nurses
cleaned and dressed my wound. I was then
refer to one of the local hospitals.
Technically we are closer to the Palmerston North hospital, but I live
to the west of the Rangitikei river which puts me under the jurisdiction of the
Whanganui hospital. The difference is
roughly 10 minutes and all the nurses reassured me that the waiting times would
be shorter. Thus, with my hand neatly
wrapped up I was driven by a staff member from work to the hospital.
To some extent it is good that I
am used to having a wait at a medical facilities. With this in mind, before leaving, I grabbed
my bag containing things to keep me occupied.
They were very useful. I was seen
to by a very nice English doctor who had arrived in New Zealand a week before. She was originally from Southern England but
had trained in Leeds. She irrigated the wound,
giving it a second cleaning, applied a new dressing, organized for radiographs
to be taken, and went to try find her superior.
It turned out as I watched from my little room in the emergency
department that it was turning out to be a very busy day for the hospital. Multiple trolleys were being pulled through
with what looked to be very severe cases as well as all the other spaces within
the department being filled with patients.
Thus I was left there waiting.
And waiting.
Thankfully I was prepared for
this with a book and access to free wifi.
So I quietly waited in the corner of the hospital, as the hospital
manager swept the corridor floors and exclaimed that she had never seen it this
busy before. Thus I waited, a patient
patient, knowing that there were cases far more in need of help than me. My doctor was part of the orthopaedics team
and her superior was in surgery all afternoon.
When she finally managed to get hold of him he informed her that they
were limited in what they could do for my injury. I would have to go 2 hours south to Hutt
Hospital where there was a specialist department. By this point it was turning toward evening,
my injury was not life threatening, and I would not be accepted at the referral
hospital until the morning.
I was rebandaged and sent off
home for the night, with a few drugs to keep me going.
Saturday 1 September 6:00 AM, I
left home to be driven to my next hospital by the practice manager. The hospital opened at 8:00 AM and we hoped
that by arriving early in the morning we will be there before any sports
injuries and hoped to be seen to before the afternoon. I was still going to bring the boredom
busting bag though.
I slept most of the way there and
arrived to find a waiting room occupied by only two other patients. That the desk I began to try and fill out
more paperwork.
New Zealand has a system called
ACC whereby any taxpayer who sustains an injury that work will have the
majority, though not all, of that costs of treatment paid for. They will also cover certain costs such as
travel expenses and a certain amount of wages depending upon level of injury
and type of work. Therefore from my
point of view it effectively worked like the NHS, but probably better.
New Zealand also has an agreement
with the British government. Any Kiwi
who sustains an injury or succumbs to illness within the UK will be cared for
and looked after by the NHS. The
reciprocal agreement means that any British citizen who similarly requires
medical help in New Zealand will get it, for the most part, free of charge.
Both of these a very simple
summaries of the situation but you get the idea. And I was in the middle. This caused some momentary confusion for the
staff. However I had already been seen
by two other medical facilities and had been given up an ACC number. This happened at work, I’m a taxpayer, and I
was going to get significantly more benefit from ACC than I was from being
British –it would later be very useful when they’re prepared to cover part of
my wages whilst I am under doctor’s orders not too rectal cows for eight weeks.
After I sat down to wait some
more a middle aged man came in with bandaged and blood soaked hands. We would later be taken off together to both
be examined by a doctor. As it turned
out he had also severed a tendon, this one for his middle finger on the right
hand, but his cut was on the back of his hand such that he couldn’t straighten
the finger. He had also sustained a
number of other injuries to his hands.
He was a site manager for building company and had gone in on Saturday
morning to do some quick jobs that hadn’t been done during the working week. One of those jobs involved cutting through a
water pipe which he thought had been shut off.
As it was as he cut through water poured from the metal pipe. This caught his hand forcing it upwards and
into the sharp edge of the pipe above at high speed.
We were both seen by a young
Irish doctor who took a history and examines our wounds in the large empty
emergency department ward. As it turned
out the doctor used to work at Leeds hospital, and my fellow patient used to
live nearby. It’s a small world.
We were sent up to the plastic
surgery department from which the hand specialists worked. We were put in different wards though I would
later see him that evening and he would be leaving surgery as I was about to go
in. In the ward I was given a bed which
initially seemed unnecessary. Out of the
window sprawled the city with the hills in the background. Across from me was an agitated Kiwi who had
already been in the hospital since Friday afternoon. During a last minute job at the lumberyard
where he worked here caught his hands on a large circular saw and made a tear
that didn’t quite make it down to the bone.
In the bed next to him was a very “interesting” American. We never asked him a question but he chose to
tell the entire hospital how the past month have gone to him.
He was a loud brash bald chap in early
middle age. Visiting him at this time
was his elderly father. Projecting with
as much a volume as he could find he told his dad about all of the injustices
that had befallen him during that month.
He had been traveling in South East Asia and whilst there had been
assaulted and had had a his wallet stolen.
Somehow he ended up being incarcerated by the local police who then
preceded to beat him in his cell. He was
then left their enough time such that the bruises healed leaving him with a no
evidence of the event when he went to the American embassy. After this he had come to New Zealand. For some reason he had been walking through
the streets of Lower Hutt. This is not a
tourist destination – Lower Hutt is not a prosperous area and is known for being
a place where New Zealand’s criminal gang culture is abundant, as well as
having a competitive crime rate. It is
not a place to be loud or brash, nor a place to show off your fancy new
phone. This unlucky American, whilst
minding his own business, was once more assaulted, this time having his phone
stolen. He was beaten unconscious and
left in the street later to be found and brought to the hospital.
Initially I had been sympathetic
for this poor American tourist. As time
went by he continued to shout about his woes and made strongly abusive comments
to his meek father, who was trying to help him to pack for the journey home. Eventually he left and the Kiwi opposite me
breathed a great sigh of relief.
Apparently this American had been similarly loud abusive and rude since
he had been brought in the day before and then had loudly snored his way
through the night. We were both equally
dumbfounded about the events he gone through.
The question was raised of what sort of person, having been assaulted
twice in Southeast Asia, then travels to Lower Hutt? And had he followed the advice many people
give for not getting mugged in strange places –primarily keeping your stuff
hidden and maintaining a low profile.
Probably not. We decided that
whilst he was very unlucky, there was a good chance he had also been very
stupid. At least we wouldn’t have to
listen to him snoring all night.
By 6:00 PM I was guessing
incredibly hungry but more importantly immensely dehydrated. I had been fasting since 6:00 AM in the
morning and was hoping the surgery would be done that day. A nurse had come around earlier to put a
catheter into my hand – perhaps they can attach me to a bag of fluids?
I managed to find a passing nurse
who went off to go find out what was happening.
As it turned out for some reason the hospital only had one acute
surgical suite open for the weekend. The
man opposite me as well as the man who I had come in with were both more
serious cases than I and so would be going in before me. But there also other patients, not to mention
other departments, who also wanted the surgical facilities. This meant that any car accident, caesarean
section, or other life threatening problem would come long before us in the
list who could wait for a long period of time.
And so it was that the nurse
returned with not only news but also sandwiches and water. Even without being told I knew this was not
good news –I needed to be starved for surgery, if I was being given food my
surgery would not be happening until the following day. So I ate my sandwiches, drank and refilled my
large litre jug of water a number of times, before finally being served a “spare”
meal with ice cream and lots of tea.
Finally my doctor arrived to
inform me that they should be able to get to me by the following morning and
that I was to be starved from 2:00 AM.
This would mean that I would be able to go home Sunday evening.
Later on that evening the patient
opposite me was taken down surgery, had the paperwork done, was prepped for
surgery, and then sent back to the ward.
A caesarean section had come in and he would be pushed back to the next
day.
The following morning he was
taken away early and returned 5 hours later.
Some time later a friend came to pick him up from the hospital and to
jubilantly left, finally free after nearly 48 hours in the ward. That got me to wondering how long it would
take offense to repair the site manager.
Eventually they came to collect
me at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Despite the fact that I could still walk very well the staff insisted
that I be pushed on my bed through the hospital and down to surgery. Here the paperwork was done, as I watched the
site manager brought out of surgery. I
was up next only for a patient I never saw with an injury more serious than my
own to be taken into surgery before me.
Only time would tell if I was to be sent back to the ward or actually
manage to get surgery this afternoon.
The estimation was good the surgeons
believing that they would be able to get to me soon enough. I curled up on my bed. The nurse who is looking after me took out a
blanket from a heated cabinet by the anesthesia department’s central console
and place to over the top me. Under a
nice warm blanket and surrounded by pillows I quickly drifted off to sleep.
When I eventually work nothing
appeared to have changed. The site
manager was still opposite me recovering and I could see no nurses
thereby. However I did feel that now was
a good time to go for a wee. So I got
off my bed and wandered out, dressed only in a hospital gown, to find a toilet. Opposite the anesthesia department with two
toilets marked “staff only”. I didn’t
know how far I would have to go to find other toilets and it seemed like a
waste of time to go find them. What the
heck, there was no one around anyway.
Such a rebel.
It was as I dutifully attempted
to wash the one hand that was not covered in bandages that I heard a commotion
outside. I waited a moment by the door
of the toilets that hospital management said I shouldn’t use before noticing
that someone was saying my name. I
cautiously opened the door to find to agitated nurses who were looking for me. The surgical table was free! It was my turn!
I walked into the surgical suite
and jumped up onto the surgical table where I would be having the operation. I was hooked up to a bag of hartman’s
solution, electrodes were attached, connecting me to the machine that goes “BING!”,
and talked to my anaesthetist. They were
going to use local anesthetic on my arm, excellent idea, and I’m sure he said I’d
be put on Halothane, which made me wonder about my recovery. I had a vague memory of being told something
about Halothane being used for humans, but couldn’t remember if it has a good
or bad thing. Either way, I treat
animals not people, and a lot of other people had been through this hospital
over the course of the weekend and they all seemed fine. They placed a mask over my face, I took slow
deep breaths, and then groggily woke up back on the ward with a new set of
bandages.
And that was that. It would not be until the following Thursday
at physiotherapy that I would see the surgical site. I sat up in my bed with a sore throat and a
second catheter in my arm. The fluids
must have worked as I no longer felt so dehydrated, but I was thirsty and
hungry. It wasn’t a long before I was
brought a double helping of dinner and 2 litres of water. I was still groggy and took a couple of naps
as I worked my way through the food. At
the end I was offered a cup of tea, and managed to get hold of more ice cream,
and began to feel a lot better.
Still recovering from an
anesthesia I stayed on the ward overnight.
The next day at 8:00 AM the department handed over to the weekday
staff. They did Morning Rounds, visiting
all the wards so the weekday staff knew what was left. I was all set and ready for home, given the
all clear by my Irish junior surgeon. This
only left mean with 3 hours to wait whilst paperwork was completed, just enough
time to practice manager to drive back down and pick me up.
Following on from all this I was
put on antibiotics, three forms of pain relief (mostly just to keep the
swelling down), and am visiting a specialist hand physiotherapist. I will be back in Hutt hospital on Monday for
an appointment with the head surgeon, and going to a hand clinic at Palmerston
North hospital in a month’s time.
So, that’s my experience of the
New Zealand Health Care System. It
effectively the same as the British one, although they will ask for a bit of
money up front to help keep out the riffraff and the time wasters.
Oh, and its better if you say you did it to work. Provided you can be back at work within 48
hours after the injury. Otherwise OSH,
which is the New Zealand equivalent of the HSE of the UK start asking questions. Although that 48 hours doesn’t include the
weekend. I’ll stop now, it’s amazing
what you learn off people hospital when you get talking.
