As an expatriate all I keep hearing on the news is the concern about the dissatisfaction that the National Health Service is providing to its tax payers in UK.
I am sick of hearing, year after year, politician after politician, how they are going to improve the health system, yet all I can see and hear year after year is the growing dissatisfaction and people’s complaints about the service they are getting.
Considering that Britain is supposed to be an example to be followed by others, yet again British politicians have managed to make the NHS a laughable joke, thus proving that they are incapable of ruling for the benefit of the nation, just as they are for everything else. They are all more interested in their own personal position in government rather than getting efficient results. It is the results that make a successful politician, something that seems to have been forgotten.
According to the NHS, they acknowledge receiving 208,626 formal complaints in 2017-18, an equivalent of 4012 every day, considering that most people will not make the effort to complain, that not just ridiculous it is disgusting.
It makes me glad I moved to Spain. According to Bloomberg Spain ranks 3rd in the world for health care efficiency, after Hong Kong and Singapore. Whereas the UK has slid down to 35th Place.
With all that money, all that supposedly impressive organisation, all those super intelligent politicians who know more that anyone else in the world I fail to understand
why it is so difficult to provide, at least, a satisfactory health service to the nation.
The proof of the pudding is that I recently suffered a heart attack, I didn’t even know I was having it.
I simply visited the infirmary (open 24/7) to ask for a pain relieving tablet for my back and shoulder, within minutes I was surrounded by three male and female nurses who dragged me into an examining room and plugged me into an ECG machine. Shortly after I was loaded on to a an ambulance bed and taken to a hospital where I was re-examined and then placed in an observation room where I was monitored throughout the night by machinery and by staff at regular intervals to be told that I was definitely having a heart attack. After giving my consent to an intrusive examination of the heart via the vein in my arm I was then informed that a stent had been inserted to cure the problem.
The terrifying truth is that I did not even suspect the real problem, I just thought it was a back ache caused by constant work at a computer, so, really, they saved my life.
I found the staff at the infirmary and at the hospital short of magnificent in their professional behaviour and the attention they gave me. There was an embarrassing moment when, after the operation, I was placed in a room in U.C.I. (Intensive Care Unit) for further observation and I discovered that one of the nurses who gave me a bed bath happened to be from the same village where I live and knew me. I told her she is the only person in the village who knows my secret.