I’m typing this with the fingers of one hand. Nothing libidinal should be inferred from this. This is long, but there is a music ‘section’ towards the end that’s amusing. I’ll attempt to do a ‘connives in comments’ thing, but no guarantees.
At around 11.30pm the Sunday before last, my right index finger started swelling and becoming painful. I went to bed but couldn’t stay there because of the increasing agony. I did the NHS 111 thing, and tried to sort an earliest possible appointment with my GP, but nothing was available. A&E didn’t seem an option as there’s typically a 6-9 hour wait, plus I’d have to somehow get there, so my option was a walk-in clinic which opened at 8am.
Thankfully the sun rises around 5.30, so I paced around, this affording some respite (sitting or lying were non-starters). At the walk-in clinic, though I was third in line, the wait was nearly 2 hours, during which I was at times weeping with the pain, but the response of the receptionists was of the ‘computer says no’ variety. I finally see a practitioner, I lay it upon them just how bad it feels, and they respond with a cursory look and a prescription for antibiotics and codeine-based painkillers.
NB The music related part of the story follows in a bit.
The prescription does fuck all, and I go along to my surgery later on to see if I can make a GP appointment for the tuesday. Nah, nothing’s available. I show them the finger, which now has a darkening discolouration stretching to the second joint. Best they can suggest is coming in at 8am the next morning and seeing if I can get an ‘Emergency Nurse Practitioner’ appointment. ‘They do go quickly, though!’ smiles to receptionist.
My partner drives over later that day (by now I’ve cancelled all client appointments for the week) and we go to A&E. I count over 60 people waiting, plus folks on beds in the corridor. The wait, we’re told is likely to be around 9 hours. That’s not tolerable, and again there’s no room for negotiation. It’s 10pm by now, and I walk round and round the block near home, because movement temporarily helps allay the pain. Again, no sleep at all that night.
Necrotizing Fasciitis
The next morning, I’m outside the surgery at 7.45, and I get the earliest available nurse appointment: 11.30. My partner and I go to a coffee shop, but by 9, I’m in such pain that we go back and I plead for something earlier. A nurse comes out, sees my finger and says ‘I’m worried that’s a blood clot’ and a GP comes over and says the same. They write a letter and call the Hospital, and tell me get over there sharpish. I’m now worrying i haven’t got my affairs in order, that this it. It’s only just begun, though but.
At the hospital, the receptionist has no notes, no letter. I’ll speed this up a bit: we’re sat in a clinic with people who’d been in A&E the night before, and there’s no urgency. Finally they find the letter, and I go into a room and have my blood pressure and other usual markers checked. I’m a psychotherapist, I do all the mindfulness stuff you can shake a stick at, I’ve worked a lot with medical professionals as clients, and I’ve read the excellent paper by Menzies-Leith about how doctors and nurses cope with this everyday carnage. However, it took me saying to this automaton ‘I’m fucking worried that I’m going to fucking die here, ARE YOU FUCKING LISTENING?’ to get things moving.
Then came the misdiagnoses. People from various departments came down and the conclusion was that it was a nasty infection, but that there was nothing ischaemic. ‘It takes more than that to lose a finger’ said one of them. I felt such a relief, and assumed that the op they booked me in for the next morning would be nice and straightforward.
Minimal sleep that night, discolouration and swelling spreading, but I felt relief that they were going to lance the fucker, get the infection out, and life would recommence.
My partner and I arrived at a different hospital, this one at Haywards Heath, for the op. HH is for non-emergencies, and there’s a lovely sense of calm about it. It’s a lovingly scripted play rather than the improv hell of an acute hospital.
I sit in a bay waiting to be assessed and given a time for the op. Every time the medics walk past my bit, though, one of them keeps frowning. She comes in, and say she thinks they’d better get on with it immediately. I’m given a regional anaesthetic ( sadly not administered by local TV legend Fred Dinenage) which means I’m awake throughout what ensues.
A sheet/curtain is placed so I can’t watch the proceedings. On my side of the curtain is the anaesthetist. The surgeon, a lovely but/and blunt woman, asks if I want some music during the op. On the spot, I say ‘The Smiths’ and she dials some Spotify compilation up. We’re up to ‘Reel Around The Fountain’ when I hear her say ‘Oh fuck!’ The anaesthetist has been chatting with me, and I say to him ‘Whooah there, they’re saying bad stuff over there’ He looks over and says ‘I have to tell you it’s not looking good’ The surgeon comes round to my side and says that there’s no option, something major has to be done. It’s necrotising fasciitis, the flesh eating bug that’s been creeping down my finger all this time. I’v heard of it, and I know it’s really not great. ‘You’re saying amputation or death?’ I say. ‘Pretty much’ she says. I laugh, and say ‘I can say whatever the fuck I like right now, can’t I?’ She says ‘I suppose you can’ and I say something I won’t repeat here. She says ‘There’s one condition. No fucking Smiths’.
They immediately start the process of sawing off my right index finger. This time, I’ve chosen The Lexicon Of Love, though midway through, a pal of mine rings (I’ve still got my left hand available, and I’ve got my phone because the fear of being cast adrift in this place is too great). We chat as the saw buzzes.
I’ll skim over what happened next – four nights in hospital, intravenous drips of antibiotics, notes lost at every stage, bed being taken whilst being assessed elsewhere, lifts being broken in the hospital et-cliche-cetera, another op to shave a bit more bone off the finger stump, for aesthetic reasons – and I’m home now, feeling fine, on antibiotics (with a probiotic counter) with stitches to be removed next week.
Conclusions? Loads of thoughts, but right now, it’s that you have to really make your case to be heard, the NHS needs loads of work and has been systemically divided up just as it divides up the body, with departments having to defend their patch often to a paranoid degree, the on-the-ground workers, mainly nurses and porters, are bloody great. Other than that, fuck the Tories and fuck Morrissey.
That is a terrible story. You have my total sympathy, for what that’s worth. I hope you make as full as recovery as is possible, considering what has happened and I will hope that such misfortune never befalls me or my family or friends.
Stay strong Barry. Showing restraint in the face of such indifference you can truly be called a Charming Man.
Cheers, Carl. This ‘too solid flesh’ is anything but!
Sounds grim. To be (as) fair (as I can), it sounds as if the decision(s) to give A/E a miss on account of the wait was where you went wrong. This is common as, yes, waits can be forever, but, c/o the current shitshow, it is what it is. Contrary to perception, GP is not an emergency service, however much it may have been able to be in the past, by default. This does not underwrite the earlier and ultimately mis/ under diagnosis made. Nec fash very unusual, but finger pulp infections are notoriously capable of compartmentalising and going bad, needing a higher index of concern and suspicion. And thus earlier surgical opinion and intervention. “Normally” it would have been the simple incision and drainage your surgeon was expecting to do. Very bad luck to be the exception. And better a finger than an arm. Or worse. (Sorry if reads too harsh and blunt; unintended.)
Get better soon.
Cheers, retro, Spot on. I think my own ignorance stems from (thankfully) never having had to use the health system for emergency purposes.
Glad you are feeling fine now, but that reads like an awful ordeal. Losing your right index finger will take a lot of getting used to, I guess – good luck with that and the rest of your recovery.
Thank you. Always good to learn new skills!
Christ, Barry. The stuff of nightmares. It’s lucky you had the… knowledge? empowerment? whatever… to be able to push your case. Wishing you a very speedy recovery.
Cheers chief. Fingers crossed.
or finger crossed
(Sorry)
All the best to you – sounds a horrendous experience you went through
Funnily enough, I sent my tickets for SLF at Roundhouse to someone last week (obv I couldn’t go), and I threw in a key ring featuring the logo and V sign, a gesture I shan’t be making again!
Impressive one handed typing! Whole thing absolutely horrendous, best wishes for a full recovery and adapting to some new challenges
Cheers, Dai
Good grief and hopes for a speedy recovery.
Ta, HR
Bloody grim from start to finish. As per Retro above, losing a finger better than losing an arm or worse – but still bloody grim. All the best for future recovery, including your post trauma headspace.
Cheers. A friend who works in ITU at the hospital I was in tells me a patient recently had their buttock area removed. Christ.
Flipping hell Barry, you well and truly went through the grinder. I was cringing reading of your experience.
This is the NHS in 2022, lack of real funding and overworked staff. This shows no signs of improvement under this government.
I hope you recover soon from what was obviously a very painful and frustrating experience.
Cheers, Baron. So easy to go down the slagging-the-NHS-as-a-concept route. Which is what plenty of folks would like to see.
Blimey what an ordeal! Best wishes for the future. I hope you can quickly learn to cope with the loss of the finger.
Any idea how you got it?
I’ve a strong sense it was via our cat, who’s been requiring tablets to be inserted in his mouth recently. Animal saliva, not great.
Cat bites are horrid for that reason: lots of nasty anaerobic bacteria. The old CFA (Cat Fight Abscess) put many a vet’s child through private schooling.
It’s a sobering story, but I think you need to consider yourself pretty lucky on this one. This could have been a lot worse, and the infection was on a body part that could be isolated/removed. All the best for a swift recovery!
Cheers Pod; Ted Nugent was quids in, too!
As an A&E doctor, and one who has dealt with necrotising fasciitis in the past, there’s a lot I would have to say about your story and general systematic problems accessing appropriate healthcare in a timely fashion. Maybe that’s best left for another time. Get well soon, that’s a difficult experience to have to process.
Cheers, Doc. I’d love to hear your thoughts at some point.
Bloody hell, Barry! One of those posts that really puts things in perspective. Sorry you had to go through all that and hope you heal up soon.
Ta, Bingo. There and gone, just like that.
From one psychotherapist to another I hope you’re feeling better soon. Do you need any EMDR at all to get over the trauma? (just done my level one).
Thank you! I think I’m okay for now, though my own EMDR practice is going to have to be with lightbar or ‘tapping in’ rather than index and forefinger! Good stuff, EMDR. You enjoying it?
Very much so. Early days so far, but I have a lot of colleagues around who have experience and advice to offer. Can’t believe it’s so versatile. Good luck.
It’s great, and v adaptive. Doesn’t have to be the sole approach etc. Hop you keep enjoying the course.
Crikey Barry, that sounds awful. Hope your recovery is less traumatic. I was just moaning to a colleague about having to have colonoscopy next week. I’ll shut up now.
Speaking as someone who had had more than one colonoscopy, my main advice is take either a pen and paper, or someone else, with you. The sedative makes you forget everything for 24 hours or so.
Michael Jackson took that stuff to get to sleep every night for years. No wonder he went wacko.
Propofol? Seems a bit heavy-duty for a colonoscopy…do they not usually use midazolam?
Propofol’s the stuff. I woke up during my first one, so they gave me a bit extra the next time.
Yoiks! Proper anaesthetic rather than a sedative…
I had one without anything but gas and air. All the way round to the small bowel. It was, at times, a tad uncomfortable. Anaesthetic is the way forward. Say yes to the drugs.
Last year with gas and air (the air mainly pumped in) and the nurse pushing down on the abdomen to get the camera round the ‘corners’ .
Or as retro calls it the ‘Jacksie Telescope’
Is that your front door, Hubes?
I was told I could have gas and air or some kind of sedative. I always vote for whatever drugs are on offer. I had one about 5 years back – all i recall being offered was a polo mint, about half way through. I did check it was from the nurse who wasn’t at the business end.
Hmmm … I’ve had three colonoscopies so far, and the two with propofol were definitely the ‘best’, if one can use that term.
Profopol is the business. I had it when they went up the old chap on some prostate-related business. Pink fluffy clouds agogo, felt wonderful when I woke up.
I woke up mid-way through my first, triggered by an unusual feeling down below as they struggled to get round a tight bend. I opened my eyes to see what looked like pink cauliflower and yellow peas on the massive TV screen.
“Oh, hello!” said my consultant. “You see those white spots? You’re not supposed to have those.”
I giggled like someone on too many space cakes, and went back to the land of nod.
I can remember that moment clearly, but not the next 24 hours, other than the relief of finally being diagnosed.
Flippin’ ‘Eck, Barry!
A bit late to say it now, but best of luck.
Cheers Steve!
Thanks for writing that Barry. Keep us informed if you can.
Ta, moose
Your stoicism is admirable, Barry. I hope you heal and adapt quickly. As others have said, and I’m sure it doesn’t feel like it right now, in many ways you have been both very lucky and very unfortunate. Best wishes.
As per our earlier conversation and my dog saliva related necrosis I am amazed they chopped your finger off with you being conscious. Did I get that right? For my 3 ops where they sliced a bit more off I was under a general everytime
My experience , here in Melbourne Australia, remarkably seamlesss, doc, emergency of nearby private hospital , admitted and on an anti biotic drip that day and first op the next morning. I was also lucky that the antibiotic they “punted on” was the right one. It took 2 days for the test results to confirm the infection so heaven knows what would have happened if the punt was wrong.
Lesson here again – pet saliva- fucking virulent.
All the best Barry. You sound ok but be prepared for some down periods when you have time to provess this chain of events.
That sounds like a smooth process Junior. Yep, awake for the removal. I’ll check but I do wonder if this was because the initial op was believed to ‘just’ be for an infection, and if they’d known what they soon discovered, it would’ve been the full general.
Yes , guess they had no time to wait to get that organised.
I thought my local hospital was supposed to be poorly-rated but it looks like yours has it beaten by a mile. When I last had occasion to visit A&E at mine I was 2 hours before being seen by the triage nurse and then a further hour or so before being treated.
As for GPs, my local surgery is very, very good. Appointments pretty easily come by and efficiently done. Yours sounds like a disaster area. My sister, just a half-hour drive away has similar trouble to you, getting appointments at her surgery. Obviously I’ve struck lucky with mine.
Cheers Mike. Yep, lot of luck of the draw seems to go on.
Cripes, Barry. That’s tough. You seem to be showing great fortitude. Good on you and get very well very soon.
I’m just hoping the fortitude lasts. There’s a check up today, and we’re taking the stairs. Several lifts were out of service when the porters were transporting me around, and there are no engineers on site. One bloke had been stuck in the lift for an hour the previous day.
Blimey Barry that’s horrendous. Fair play to you for insisting. I suspect some of us may have gone home at the moment you said ‘I’m fucking worried that I’m going to fucking die here, ARE YOU FUCKING LISTENING?’ Stay well and I would suggest keep telling your story.
Cheers Dave. It’s that tricky balance of being assertive (whilst scared) without it becoming aggressive.
Holy smokes, Barry, I’m speechless after reading that horror story! Good thing it ended well (considering the alternative…)
Looking on the bright side; from now on you’ll at least be able to flip people off without them ever suspecting it!
Ta, Locust!
Fuck me, @barry-blue, that’s grim. I read your first post right after you posted it and thought, there’s another chapter to this. And I was right…hope you recover quickly.
Cheers chief
Apropos dirty mouths, I was always told cat bites sometimes become infected, dog bites often become infected and human bites always become infected……….
Funnily enough, the bloke in the bay next mine at Haywards Heath had a leg infection from the tooth of someone he’d kicked in the head.
Those Met Policemen get everywhere!
Best wishes, BB. Since reading your post I’ve been imagining what it would be like to lose an index finger on my writing hand. On both a practical and psychological level I think I’d find it hard, but far from insurmountable. With my own bodily defectitudism (hearing loss, for now) I tend to see it as an “interesting” new avenue in life. I don’t want to sound too glib, but I even find the challenges it brings quite fun. Hoping you coping on all levels, very best of luck to you.
Thank you Gary. Yes, it’s all neuroplasticity opportunities. I’ve still got some phantom limb syndrome going on.
Sounds awful Barry. Best wishes for a swift recovery.
I have nothing much to say other than I hope you make a good recovery & best wishes going forward.
Take care. 👍
Jeez BB that’s awful. I can’t imagine how horrible that was and your mindfulness training must be running hot at the moment. I just hope it settles down and you can put the whole ghastly business behind you.
I had a tiny but vaguely similar experience recently. A close relative discovered incurable cancer, not spotted until too late due to lockdown. Badly rattled, I tried intermittently to get an appointment for a test at the GP. It is impossible to ring, and if you select 3 for a callback you immediately receive a text saying “We are not currently providing a callback service”. Finally I went old school and hand wrote a letter to the doctor explaining the family history and posted it through the surgery door. The next day the doc rang me, I went down and had the finger, the blood test, the full 9 yards and everything came back clear. TFFT. You have to hang in there though. Whilst I get the difficult times we currently have I don’t really think you should have to go through that hassle. They have an on line service – currently unavailable. Why, FFS?
I’m reminded of the Daily Mash headline “Doctor’s receptionist sees every appointment made as a personal failure”.
That DM headline could easily be taken seriously. Yesterday’s check up began, as pretty much every arrival in the various departments has begun, with a receptionist informing me that they had no record of me, no notes, nothing. Yet a-fucking-gain it took concerted pushing to get seen. This is where my potential trauma resides, the being told/assured by one person only to find it’s bullshit.
Good you got the all clear after persevering, though but.