Half way through January, come on folks we can do this.

The week has been curiously busy. Zooms. Phone calls. And daily letters from NHS land telling me I must shield. No tins of spam, yet, phew.

Zoom meetings this week beamed me into Westminster for the APPG where I got really tetchy about a new initiative. Some poor soul

proudly presented his £11m plan for more specialist physios for post natal ladies. Great idea I said but actually what you need to do is train midwives, nurses and gps to understand pelvic floors before they refer them to special women’s health physios. Poor guy I thought he was going to cry. Not least because the Chair person the very feisty Rosie Cooper MP, agreed with me. Then a zoom into Regents Park for NICE guidelines. That is such important work. It is to develop the patient decision aids for the ( as recommended by our original committee) specialist centres for mesh removal. A more sensitive and delicate situation is hard to imagine. I feel so very honoured and privileged to be able to help in some small way. One of the lead surgeons has become such a friend too. She started texting as the zoom began. Trying to make me giggle. Not least at the memory of her eating a sausage roll off-camera when being asked to answer erudite questions! Then more zooming into the world of mesh and the BSUG…I cannot remember what that stands for Surgeons, Uro, Gyny, great surgeons including the aforementioned sausage roller. We made a lot of progress and in a tightly chaired zoomy meeting action plans are in place. This may actually be amazing for those poor ladies who have had such issues with mesh.
Meanwhile GP land is utterly bonkers. My own surgery texted to tell me my last results had been received could I make an appointment. I rang. The Rottweiller trained call handler told me I could not have my results, I could not have an appointment until the next day and basically told me I was a liar when I told her I was allowed to see my results because I self treat at home. FFS. Tell me what I need now today not tomorrow. I do not need to waste appointment time. Just tell me. NO was her answer.
To my infinite relief Jerome rang. Perchance my ultra groovy way of couriering a sample to London had worked. he had the results he, the busy stressy bonkers London surgeon had the wherewithall to ring me, tell me results and check I was ok. Told me what meds to take. Told me to update him.
He says his junior staff are re-deployed to covid wards. He, on the other hand is not much use being way too old to administer jabs or remember how to do a cannula. So, he does all the emergency stuff for urology, without his team. Then, on his days off, like today, Sunday he volunteers to go in to help in ICU to turn or ‘prone’ patients. Absolute hero. Meanwhile my daughter number 2, is redeployed to covid wards. She has now recovered from herown covid, indeed has had vaccine #1. She says hospital an amazing atmosphere. It is about getting patients better and out and home and then gettting the next ones in. I salute Jerome and Daughter2 and all those amazing front line staff.
Meanwhile, my father was called by letter to his second covid jab. Turns out that was an error and should have been cancelled. Try explaining that to confused bewildered Dad bundled up warm against the snowy morning. But not to worry my mother had been diagnosed over the phone with heart failure. Since November her gp has been telling her to take her own blood pressure and increase all sorts of pills. Despite my appeals for a doctor to see her face to face this has gone on for weeks. Monday this week somehow mum’s world imploded. Tears and panic and extreme distress. My brother in Canada kept her on the phone whilst i struggled to make contact with her gp. Long story short she had been told too high a dose of meds. FFS. In fact a cardio appointment this week also confirmed she does not have heart failure. So my mission next week is to ask the gp to SEE her, perhaps organise a geriatrician and stop the stupid meds. I have to admit it was quite jolly having to drive her to hospital. I wasn’t allowed in. I snoozed in the car until a lovely young nurse brought her back. He could not have been kinder and more thoughtful. He explained all the stuff to me and reassured me the clinic letter would be done asap. My poor mother kept saying that her letter said she could be accompanied. Yes, we said, but they must be using an old letter. Pandemic land means no chaperones. .
Then finally to relate one of many lovely phone calls. This from an old friend of my late sister -in- law. She is a 76 yr old, shepherdess in the Borders of Scotland. No stranger to cold and wind and snow and isolation. You would be so proud of me, there I was agreeing the early lambing was because the tup must have got loose, the sheep must be brought in, the main lambing in March…Hurrah for my research work in Ambridge farming. Dear lady, she honours me with assuming I have any clue about lambs and tups and ewes and stuff. A total pleasure to hear her laughter when I ask her how her dog is. …oh muddy and wet and just jumped into my bed! It’s going to be a long night she chortled.

Come on everyone we can do this we really can. I think. It’s going to be a long winter.