Tag Archives: tired

Open Letter to David Cameron – Our Silent PM

This was written by the father of a UK doctor. He lives in Sweden but is speaking out to save our NHS. If you share his sentiments. Reblog or share my link. Please.

Sir,
Your silence in the matter of the NHS and Junior doctors is conspicuous and indicates your silent approval of the Health Secretary and his policies.

This is not a matter only between Mr. Jeremy Hunt, the NHS, and junior doctors. In fact, this concerns everyone, from a child yet to be born to the elderly person counting the last breath and every one in between. Therefore your intervention is of vital importance to the national interest.

It is also very painful to see how ruthlessly and insensitively you treat the elite youth of your society. The youth who have chosen to indulge in the service of people of your nation, day and night, ignoring their own comfort and social life. They are the foundation of health and wellbeing of your nation of which, I am sure, you are proud of.

I have seen the plight of junior doctors. They are working day and night, have no control over their week-ends or holidays, when on call they have to be available for up to 48 hours. They cannot think of taking leave irrespective of personal urgency. In spite of all this they are single-mindedly devoted to their duties and responsibilities and have never asked for a pay rise. They are just short of being slave driven. To add ridicule and insult to their calibre, Mr. Jeremy Hunt wants to reduce their pay and increase their working hours (while informing the public he is doing the opposite). All the while he has been projecting them as greedy and an unwilling work-force. You are watching all this silently.

The fact is that junior doctors are tired, fatigued, exhausted, demoralised and yet they stand erect and defend the health system of your nation.

I will spare myself the energy and assume that you know more than I can ever explain. You will be well versed on the internal workings of your own government, therefore, I will draw your attention to a few things which might have escaped your attention. I do not think that this has escaped the attention of Jeremy Hunt because it appears his is a well calculated mission.

First, all signs suggest that you want to privatize the NHS. If that is so, you should come out boldly and declare to the public that you want to do so. Firing the gun from the shoulders of the junior doctors and blaming them is not graceful nor is it worthy of a strong Government. The public who have placed you in the high office have the right to know your plans rather than manipulations. If your Government succeeds, cutting the pay of junior doctors and increasing their working hours, junior doctors will survive in one way or another. However, the entire population of your country will suffer. I do not think that they will forget nor forgive. Therefore, before you dismantle the NHS, it is imperative that you rethink your plans because the health and wellbeing of your country depends on it, and for this, you are directly answerable – even in the future.

Second, the Health Secretary has succeeded in downgrading and vilifying the medical profession as much as possible. Once again, you are a silent witness to this. He has taken away all the motivation and incentive from bright and elite students of your schools and colleges to choose the medical profession. If he is allowed to succeed further, you might find medical colleges left wanting for students. That would create an enormous shortage of qualified and quality doctors in the long run and an ever increasing burden on the health service.

Thirdly, if you and Mr. Jeremy Hunt succeed in privatising the NHS – I can see how this could be the interest of Mr. Jeremy Hunt. Your previous health secretary Mr. Lansley, has recently take a role in a company who is promoting privatisation of The NHS.

If The NHS is short of funds (and we know it is, through systematic underfunding by the government), it is not the fault of junior doctors. On the contrary they have to work even harder without adequate machines, equipment and staff. It is a simple case of mismanagement of finances and mismanagement of administration. Instead of pointing the gun toward the junior doctors – who are the weakest link in the chain of NHS hierarchy – aim your guns at cleaning and pruning the financial management of NHS. Look deeply into it as to why The NHS is in this position.

There are 53000 junior doctors. They are working for at least double that number. Each doctor is giving you output for at least two doctors. Instead of motivating them, patting them on the back, and incentivising them, you want to pull the carpet from under their feet so that all of them tumble down. More worryingly, you are willing to do this on the whims of a few people who may not think beyond their own interests at the cost of the health of your entire nation.

Your junior doctors are dedicated, hardworking and responsible. They are the future specialists, researchers and innovators. They are the backbone of the health system of your country. Give them the respect they deserve. Give them the motivation and sense of worth. Applaud them for having chosen the medical profession.

I have seen them working with dedication and without complaining in spite of all the hardships they face as my son is one of 53000 junior doctors.

This letter is the voice of 106000 parents who are proud of their children and their devotion to the service of people.

Best regards,
Anil Bhatnagar

Neglect Has A Lasting Legacy

I was 5 years old when my sister and I went on a road trip with Baba, our Grandad, up North in Nigeria. It was not normal for just the two of us to go with him. There was usually my grandma too or maybe my mama. However, this time we got to go solo with him. I suspect it is because we begged and it was the holidays and my mother was busy at work with no better plans to entertain us. Whatever the case, we got to go and I remember my sister and I getting bored quite quickly (probably an hour into the 6.5 hour journey). Plus my grandad had taken to listening to boring traditional Hausa music (Mamman Shata and the like). So we sang every nursery rhyme and Disney song we knew. We sang for hours until our throats were sore. Must have driven my grandad and the driver mad but they bore with us.

When we got to the town we were staying the night in, my grandad took us straight to my ‘aunt’s’ home. I say ‘aunt’ because this is not my mother’s sister, my favourite aunty in the whole world aunty Bilky. No, this is someone who grew up with my mum and her siblings and is therefore considered a ‘sister’. I will call this aunty ‘Auntie’ henceforth for easy reference. Now, we had spent quite a few holidays with Auntie and her many daughters in the past so we knew them well enough and were quite happy to be taken to hers. One of her daughters is very close in age to my sister and the youngest was a year older than I was but we usually got on pretty well. I couldn’t tell you if there were any special circumstances at the time we visited but I think not because we would have known. My mama was always upfront if anything major was going on especially if she was going to let us visit. Anyway, out of the car we tumbled, tired and excited. It was well after lunch but not dinner time yet but we were already feeling the first pangs of hunger having had a late breakfast on the road but not stopped for lunch. We were all shown into a living room in their sprawling home and someone showed us to the ‘bedroom’. I use the term ‘bedroom’ loosely because although the large room had beds (I think it was 3 single beds), most of it was clearly a dumping ground for dirty laundry and other clutter and it looked like no one had slept in there for a long time. My grandad left whilst we checked out our lodgings.

My sister and I waited for what seemed like ages for someone to come and tell us what to do with all the mess if we were actually going to be staying in that room. We also waited in vain for someone to offer us a drink or give us a snack. Nothing happened so we eventually picked one bed and cleared it and the area around it. We lay on the bed listening to the noises of muted conversation until all we could hear was our tummies rumbling. The sun began to set and we were soon left in darkness. One of us hunted for the light switch and we resumed our waiting game. We might have dozed off or maybe just lay around in a hungry tired trance but eventually I remember saying to my sister that I needed something to drink. That spurred her into action and she led me hesitantly out of the room and we wandered down the corridors of the seemingly empty house, most of the lights off. We found a kitchen but our hunt turned up nothing to eat. We had some water and sadly found our way back to the bedroom and eventually slept on empty stomachs.

We awoke to the sound of voices outside, going about their morning chores. We could smell breakfast frying…I am not sure now what it was (because we didn’t get any) whether it was fried yam, potatoes or bean cakes (kosei) but the smell was right under our noses and we were so famished we looked at each other in hope. No one came to get us and being nice Fulani girls, we stayed put. I remember asking my sister if she thought they had forgotten we were there. ‘How is that possible?’ She replied so we waited and waited. We waited some more as all the noise died down and the house fell silent again. Had they all gone out without so much as a word to us? Were we home alone in this house we didn’t know, in a town we had maybe visited a couple of times before? We finally ventured out and explored the section of the house we were in. No one was there. We returned to the kitchen, probably assuming that they might have saved us some breakfast. We found evidence of breakfast in the dirty dishes in the sink but not a bite left for us.

At this stage, I thought I was going to die of hunger. It was getting close to 24 hours since we had breakfast on the road with Baba and there was no adult to be seen. We went back to the room and my sister rummaged desperately in the backpack we had brought with us. ‘Look’ she cried excitedly after searching for a while. She brandished a N5 note. N5 (five naira) in those days (around 1990) was actually worth something. We could certainly have breakfast on the street with that. Remember this was a town we were not very familiar with so it was with trepidation that we ventured out of Auntie’s house and into the busy street. Thankfully there was no one out to cause mischief and we were left alone. We followed the smell of kosei to a street corner nearby and found a lady frying the delicious bean cakes seated on a stool by the fire over which she was frying. We gave her the N5 and asked for kosei. ‘All of it?’ she asked and we nodded hungrily. She scooped the freshly fried kosei out into the traditional newspaper wrap, sprinkled on a generous helping of the chilli powder that comes with it and handed it to us. We walked a few metres away before we gave in to the hunger in our bellies and we tucked in. After a few mouthfuls, we felt good enough to continue walking and we ate as we walked back to the house. The portion was decent and we gobbled it all up within minutes. Finally satiated, we chucked the paper in the bin and went in to have a quick wash and get dressed.

When my grandad came for us around lunchtime, we were happy again. Still left to our own devices but happy because my sister had fed us. We looked clean and my grandad was none the wiser. Lunch was served with my grandad so of course we got fed. I remember picking at the food because I was still stuffed from our late breakfast and also because I was so disappointed my Auntie had been so mean. But we said nothing. Just very happily jumped back into the car for the 3 hour trip to Kaduna where we knew we would be treated by my aunty Nafisa like princesses. I was not disappointed!

For many years after that, I did not forget or forgive that episode. The daughters I didn’t blame so much because half of them were young like us. But the 2 older girls were certainly old enough to know that young children visiting should at the very least be given a drink and food. Auntie should certainly have known better. I made up my mind that she was no longer my auntie but only my sister knew this for the next decade or so. I found every excuse not to go back there and mostly, I didn’t.

The next time I went was unavoidable. My mama and I were on the way to Kaduna and from there were to catch a flight back to Lagos where I went to boarding school. I wasn’t really given a choice of itinerary because she wanted to say hi to her ‘sister’. I knew anyway that I would be treated well because my mama was there but the hypocrisy grated. I clenched my teeth and said not a word. The visit was ok-ish. It turned out her daughter was getting married and we had been invited but my mother neglected to mention it. I had nothing to wear for any occasion as I was on my way back to boarding school and being a teenager, it mattered to me. Bearing that in mind, the youngest daughter and her cousin/half-sister on night 2 were in the same room as I was but I was lying on the bed, my head buried in a book as I was usually found in those days. They were whispering loudly about the pre-wedding party they were going to the next night and how much fun it was going to be etc. Being close in age to them, I would have expected them to have the courtesy either to invite me or not to talk about it in front of me. They did not have the courtesy to extend an invitation to me. Party night came and they snuck out when it was time despite being chummy with me all day. What sort of a fool did they think I was? The morning after, they were giggling over events at the party but would fall silent if I walked in a room or turned in their general direction. What grated wasn’t that I didn’t go because to be honest, I wasn’t one for parties at that age and I certainly did not have anything to wear. What sucked was their meanness of spirit and being treated like a fool.

Since that visit, I have stayed well away from most of that family. Although I have forgiven them their neglect and meanness, I doubt I will ever forget. That amongst other things are major character flaws I really wish not to be associated with. I have not considered Auntie my aunty for very many years to my mama’s consternation. I have since told my mama about that episode and several other incidents not talked about in this blog. I know she was dismayed and even sad but perhaps a small part of her is hoping that me and my sister’s account of that incident is overly-dramatized as remembered by our young immature brains. Regardless, I sincerely believe that if we had been her actual nieces, she would not have treated us so carelessly when we were so young. And she would not have allowed that mean spirit to rub off on her daughters.

When I think of her, I think of two quotes:

“When someone would mistreat, misinform, misuse, misguide, mishandle, mislead… or any other “mis”… to others, they’re obviously missing something from their lives.”
― Donald L. HicksLook into the stillness

“I know it’s painful growing,
I bet the changes was painful too.
But nothing is as painful as being somewhere you don’t belong.
Obviously.”
― Touaxia Vang