February 20th 2017
Today I tried to be the man of the house, and failed miserably. Firstly, we found out that when Alice went to the doctors last July to be referred to the hospital, the Doctor forgot to refer her. Seven months later, she phoned up to ask if they’d any news on when her appointment was going to be, and it turned out that the doctor hadn’t sent the form that he was supposed to.
So she’s been waiting around for seven months for nothing. This got me angry, so I started phoning people to shout at them. I am not usually one to complain, or even shout, but I got very mad. The doctor fucked up. It was his fault. And Alice has been walking around in constant pain for the last seven months because one dickhead doctor forgot to send a letter.
The doctor’s surgery told Alice that she’d just have to start the process of getting a referral again, but that wasn’t good enough for me, so I started looking up ways that I could escalate a complaint, in the hopes of getting her to the top of any waiting list. I found out the name of the practice manager, the doctor whose fault it was, and the name of my local MP – just in case. When I phoned them up, I was armed, and ready to shout.
The problem was, they wouldn’t let me through to any one important enough to shout at. I asked for the surgery manager by name, but the receptionist said that I wasn’t allowed to speak on behalf of Alice without Alice’s written permission. I asked her if Alice phoned up and gave permission, would the manager call me back? She said yes.
She didn’t call me back. Because we’ve moved towns since Alice’s botched appointment with that bellend, we’ve also moved Doctors. So, they told Alice that it wasn’t their problem because she wasn’t their patient any more, and that she should talk to the hospital or her new Doctors.
That made me so mad. They were passing the buck, even though it was literally their fault.
I think what kicked me into action was that throughout Alice’s illness, there’s been nothing I can do to take her pain away. I felt helpless as she hurt.
But when there was suddenly an ass to kick and doors to slam open, I felt like there was something I could do to help. But I was blocked by protocol, and a stubborn, stupid receptionist who I wish unpleasantries upon.
This won’t be the end of this saga.
I got home and tried to be the man of the house again.
We’ve got a drawer in our kitchen that won’t open because it’s blocked by something on the inside. We’ve been trying to find a way into it for a week but it’s stuck, good and proper. The ironic thing is that the drawer is the ‘man drawer’, and inside it is the screwdriver I need to open the drawer. You see my problem?
I asked one of the guys at work to bring in a screwdriver for me, and when I got home I kind of hacked and whacked at the drawer to try and break into it. I didn’t get anywhere. The only conceivable way I can see to get into the drawer is by unscrewing the entire drawer next to it, which should give enough room to unscrew the face of the locked drawer, which should let me jiggle it open.
Anyway, I tried that for a bit but it didn’t work.
I’m not even man enough to get into my own man drawer. And I feel helpless, and powerless, and useless because I can’t help her.
Until tomorrow, not even a little bit.