Two weeks after jaw surgery number 3.

Stitches are too annoying. But moving on from soups and smoothies at last. It’s the invisible pain. No one would know. Bruises have gone. Swelling kind of ok not so hamster ish. Benign. Inside not visible not obviously. The nerve endings still damaged. Ie I’ll dribble on. Whatever!

The registrar insisted I see Mr Maxfax within 4 weeks. But. The appointment which has come through is November. As in 10 weeks.

Meanwhile and absolutely not my story but a demonstration of how benign conditions could be treated so much better …

My young relative had a horrible accident washing up a kitchen knife. 

Task force A team rapidly rushed in. On account of squeamish some realigned duties went into place. 

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It began, with washing up. One minute: domesticity on account of broken dishwasher. The next: a horrible accident, panic, and my young relative clutching her hand while Task Force A (our family’s elite emergency response unit) launched into action. Some members were immediately stood down on account of squeamishness; others were rapidly redeployed. We realigned duties.

Monday: Surgery Day,

I took her to Bedford Hospital for surgery. Hours passed. Many hours. Eventually she was discharged — and here’s the miracle — the discharge letter, meds, and instructions were produced with astonishing speed. Proof, if ever needed, that they CAN do this when they want to.

The delays to surgery were explained: Patient One had a more complicated injury than expected. Fair enough. What wasn’t fair enough was the holding area. Relatives weren’t allowed in because the patients were crammed into what can only be described as an animal cupboard. Privacy curtains, naturally, offering no privacy whatsoever.

Relatives, meanwhile, were expected to hang about in the seedy, grubby waiting room. No drinks no information no nothing. I chose another option: went home, risking a hard one parking space, clutched my phone, waited for updates, and prepared for the next phase. Once I’d got lovely J home, I dashed out again for more painkillers and cakes — the essentials.

Tuesday: Tears, Speed, and a Clinic Room the Size of a Shoebox

This brave youngster was in agony. Real agony. Tears — and I’ve never seen her cry. She had already spoken to the surgeon and the admin person (because she is, actually , totally up for the red flag indicator ). We were instructed to get to the hospital immediately. So we did.

Once we found the clinic — Without any delays we were rushed into the Registrar Consultant, four nurses, and us — all – rammed into a tiny room. Checks, tests, questions. She cried so much I tried to climb across the desk to reach her. Eventually: better splint, better meds, better plan. Back home again.

Wednesday: Parking, Physio,

Back we went. First challenge: the impossible parking, which costs a small fortune and requires the patience of a saint. I do actually know a few secret places. Hurrah I found them too. Then the hand physio clinic.

Relatives park. Then they wait. And wait. My brother and I did this dance. I handled the squeamish bits; he handled taxi drop-offs and returns. Between us, we formed a blooming amazin unit.

And here’s the thing: the clinic was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Kind, calm, competent. Benign, but dealing with horrendous injuries. They did everything possible to mitigate the pain, the fear, the chaos.

Just saying: it CAN be done.