Kafka lives

Or is it Victor Meldrew? Either way, I don't believe it!

These days we often hear the despairing cry "nothing works!" In reality I'm sure things do work, it's just that nothing seems to work as well as it once did, despite all the tech that is supposed to deliver the sunlit uplands of seamlessly efficient customer service*. 

I'm not sure this isn't just nostalgia (which, admittedly, is not what it was) or senescent misremembering. Perhaps nothing was ever that wonderful but a combination of fourteen years of Tory government neglect, Brexit and a Covid pandemic has certainly done nothing to improve matters. The whole public realm seems in a state of disarray while, at the same time, our growing reliance on the internet, AI and algorithms to improve things is leading us into a cul-de-sac, or maybe that's down a blind alley.

The NHS is often singled out as a prime example of the lack of joined-up thinking in the provision of an efficient modern public health service. As a pensioner with a growing reliance on that very service, I can attest to the frustrations of trying to negotiate a system (if, indeed, such it can be called) of Byzantine complexity in order to get the desired outcome. And if this involves hospital referrals it can feel like a game of pass-the-parcel - devised by sadists. An holistic service it is not.

We have all become accustomed to the '8am scramble' or the joys of e-consult in order to secure a doctor's appointment but, if having been lucky enough to succeed in that task, another set of frustrations lies in wait for the unwary - accessing follow-up. For example, I was recently pleasantly surprised to be texted by a GP in my local group practice to attend for a health review. Having secured an appointment (after several attempts) I saw the good doctor face-to-face, who was admirably thorough and referred me for an MRI scan and physiotherapy, both of which happened within a week. Amazing, I thought, Wes Streeting is getting stuck in! 

But then the systemic glitches kicked in... My first physiotherapy session was the morning after my MRI scan, the results of which I naively assumed would have been electronically pinged through to the physiotherapist. Alas, no. My physio checked her screen, only to discover that she was flying blind. She did her professional best to diagnose the issues by the old-school method, the 'laying on of hands', and referred me for further such sessions at the local hospital. I have yet to hear anything more about those.

However, today, almost four weeks after my scan, I received a text from another GP (one rarely sees the same one twice) informing me that the results had been received and inviting me to make an appointment to discuss their implications. Better late than never, I sighed - patience not being a virtue with which I am exactly over-endowed - and rang the surgery immediately. "Sorry" I was informed "appointent schedules haven't been released yet, can you call back in half an hour?". I duly called back, only to be played a recorded message that the surgery was closed for staff training and would reopen later. With the time being 12.59pm I assumed this was coded language for lunch.

At 2.15pm (thoughtfully leaving enough time for the consumption and digestion of a tuna-mayo sandwich) I called again to be told the afternoon allocations had all gone but some cancellations may arise if I called back later. As the surgery closes at 6.30 that's my last throw of the dice before 8am on Monday morning when the scramble starts again. Given that a GP took the trouble to send me a text inviting me in, maybe she might have offered a possible time and date?

Or maybe 'she' was a bot.

*A process, I learn, now recognised as 'enshittification'.


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