Moorfields eye. 
Last time they had lost all. notes, could not log onto computer and lost the scans from home. Sorescheduledtotoday.

This time. Took my own notes kindly donated by optician. Waited so long I had to put my earplugs in to blot out blaring tv. BBC Brexitus has descended on the country once more after a weekend off.

Maybe the nhs manager has gone to the wrong hospital. The patients cannot see at this one, they are not actually deaf. Mind you three poor people nearly got hit by a mobility scooter driven by a man wearing very thick dark glasses! Nice guidedog barkedatthat !

Eventually got seen. Sent for more tests and blood and planning head scans and arghhhhh and all is a conundrum.  Lots of umming and arring. Found my way out of the labyrinth that is this old hospital with new windowless bits stuck on.. 

Microbiology clinic in a tropical disease department just after the room for the poor youngsters looking green and staring at condom posters, in the std clinic. Poor kids, bit late now.

My last microbiology appointment upstairs in this depressing building off Tottenham Court Road, was dire. Late running clinic. Horrible staff. Horrible patients. Blood stained floor. A very nice apologetic consultant. It all ended in tears. For everyone!
This time she was only running an hour late. A Radio blaring to the sad looking malaria patients. Aha so this is where the Moorfields manager must have got to. These ones can SEE. I read all the posters on tropical diseases and thanked my lucky stars there’s a good reason not to fly to Barbados. All of a sudden Cornwall seems a good decision.

Same very lovely consultant. Apologies and sorry about last time and cancelled clinics and postponed tests and blah blah….Much empathy and concern. Not to worry I said .by some amazing luck I was in London anyway and the automated text arrived on Friday..loads of time. NOT! Anyhow…we made a new plan. I emerged to find all support staff had left the department… so some other doctor got hoiked out of his cupboard and had to do bloods urines etc. I found myself apologising. Whatever for I do not know.

Now I was running a tad tight for the 3rd appointment. Asthma.  Just a bit down the Euston Road. 

This consultant uses WhatsApp.  Secure. Encrypted. Not the crap GCHQ type letters I get from elsewhere. 

His awesome efficient secretary always texts the night before. Standard reminder. 

So last night I replied thumbs up to that.. She replied thankyou. The school of Rottweiler receptionists should take note!

Today I texted Im late. on way. 

She texted no problem . 

Seamless. Stress free. ENCRYPTED so the Russians cannot track my movements ….or whatever we are encrypted obsessing about. Really?

Arrived at clinic. 

Last time here was massive disaster. IE no appointment no knowledge nothing. Real bad. This time they were ready. Smiley. Jolly. Even let me use tiny useless lift on my own. Last time squeezed in with chubby man. Was a tad in personal spaces territory. 

Texted secretary S. Im here.

We swapped humour whilst I waited.  I’ll try to copy it here…

And now…. some 13 hours after I left home… spine and kidney whinging. Painkillers in. Haven’t got antibiotics. Thought I’d be back in time . Better not roll up sleeves. Blooded on both arms!

I’m stuck at St Pancras. No trains. Many people.  They are leaving in their droves ….for Europe? What do they know that I don’t?

Shit. Knew I should have listened to the blaring tv news. OhhhBREXITITUS.