This Old Man

Said:

“I’d shoot the lot of them!”

 

 

It is not often I sit down to write a missive with no clear plan of what is coming, nor ideas for a structure and perhaps a conclusion. However, I do have a lot to say about matters that are totally irrelevant to most normal peoples lives. These credentials should merit my immediate promotion to positions such as “President” or “Prime Minister” me’thinks?

 

Well I do have a lot to tell you, especially those poor souls who enjoy reading about the trials and tribulations of my small life. In recent missives I have given short reviews of some matters, but today I want to tell you about the new and improved disservices offered by what once was a British stalwart company – namely BT.

 

Most people would presuppose that given the recent international financial situation, company’s like BT would have been making the most of their privileged situations, and opening markets closed to other company’s that do not have their virtual monopoly. Therefore it is my sad duty to relate to you that after 7-weeks of trying, BT remain incapable of reconnecting an advanced pensioners telephone service, that they originally disconnected due to a service technicians basic oversight.

 

Let us be clear: This is not rocket science, nor be it nuclear particle physics; it concerns the physical ability of a BT employed technician to connect two pairs of wires together in the correct order. Something we have since discovered is way beyond the competency of any currently employed BT staff.

 

I personally stopped all communications with BT, when a few years ago I discovered that all their internet hosting packages were in fact hosted by a company called Register.com, a most insular and unhelpful load of cretins based just outside New York, USA. I don’t suppose you realise they retain sole rights to your BT website, over and above your personal wishes or those as directed by BT?

 

 

Let us begin by wishing my Father a very happy 90th birthday. The old dog is still going strong and is as unmovable as ever. When asked his views on: the current political situation, europe, bankers, social workers – his answer was simple: “I’d shoot the lot of them”! He doesn't think much of hospitals either, as having gone in to have his broken arm cast a few months ago, he was kept in for observation for one night – only for the ward to have a superbug the next day, and all in all he was away from his home for about 6-months all told. This was of course the now infamous Stafford Hospital, which kept my Mother in for observation 2-years ago, and they managed to keep her incarcerated for long enough to give her 3 superbugs, one of which eventually killed her.

 

I do not blame the nurses, other than they have no time for simple patient care - like administering water and pills. Feted wounds went undressed until my Sister complained, and it should not be left for Family to stand stewardship over a parent who is not being cared for in a hospital ward. I know this despicable hospital management regime deliberately retired their boss earlier this year, him walking away with a very large bonus cheque. May their bosses enjoy their most highly undeserved rewards! I would prefer to prosecute them for flagrantly failing to ensure the most basic standards of care. But it seems they only get millions of Pounds of money from taxpayers instead – because they managed to take nurses away from their front-line duties, and gave them a shift full of paperwork to fill in, instead of caring for their patients needs. If you don’t believe me, then search The Daily Telegraph for patients who have died from dehydration = they were not even given a simple glass of water. There are a lot of them!

 

One poor guy was in perfect health, yet after 3-days of no water or fluid intake, suffered renal failure and later had both his legs amputated and lost his eyes also. Simply because all the nurses were too busy filling in forms to give him a cup of water to drink. Check this for yourselves, it is on public record. So is the fact they failed to complete this poor man’s chats fully, presumably to hide his neglect. Interestingly, before she died in hospital, my Mothers charts were not properly filled in either, with my sister having to remind nurses to perform this duty also. The hospital director concerned was paid millions of £’s in bonus’ for this atrocity – and guess what, he denies any culpability. I would rather preserve the right to press criminal charges against these imbeciles – but then, all governments appear to endorse his actions as their ‘targets’ are being met one way or another, so maybe it is up to you also?

 

However, it has also become apparent that the Coroner responsible for officially recording all these hospital deaths has consistently altered causes of death given by the hospital registrar to more minor or general conditions, and not enquired as to figures relating to abnormally high death rates emanating from Stafford hospital. According to the Telegraph, he is also impeding and obfuscating all legal attempts to pursue redress through the courts. Why?

 

I’ll leave you with that thought, and to ponder just how deeply this deception is ingrained into everyday hospital life in the modern United Kingdom. After all, a Coroner answers directly to Parliament – and that’s your starter for 10.

 

A year later my Father ends up in hospital. He fell whilst turning to see where the dog was, slipped on ice, and ended up on the concrete step. He remembers thinking at the time – “This is going to hurt”. He pressed his emergency call button, and response was as it should be. After confirmation of a serious problem, an ambulance was dispatched and he was taken to Stafford hospital.

 

So my Father now ends up in this den of hedonistic denial, and is set upon by do-good social workers who interrogate him about why he slipped. They concluded there was obviously something wrong with his brain and recommended tests and incarceration. Of course there was nothing wrong with him, he simply slipped. Next day the tests come back negative or clear, and he can go as soon as somebody can collect him. My sister takes time off work to go and get him, only to be informed upon arrival the ward now has a novo virus and he has to be kept in. But it seems he is one of the few lucky ones, and escapes after a few months when the superbug is finally clear of his ward for a few days.

 

Unfortunately he is now so weak that he cannot simply be discharged, so Social Services find a place for him to recuperate in a Nursing Home that is not local to his home, nor any person who is likely to want to visit him. My sister visits him one Sunday shortly after his admission, and is surprised to find he has trouble using his good arm. He tried to call me in China that day, only to give up because the good arm was hurting him too much for him to hold the phone to his ear. My sister reports this to the senior nurse at the home, who calls for a doctor to attend. This is scheduled for the next day, but the Doctor can’t be bothered to turn up that day, so it is Tuesday before he is eventually seen. The Doctor diagnoses that he has broken his other arm, and sends him back to hospital. I’m not quite sure how he could have done that whilst sitting in his chair, but the Doctor is sure of his diagnosis.

 

Well, the Doctor was wrong, and my Father had developed sceptic arthritis. This was probably due to overusing his good arm, but shouldn’t a simpleton have been able to prevent this, let alone diagnose it correctly? It tells me that staff at this nursing home that are being paid £800 per week by Social Services to care for my Father, are not doing their jobs and looking after him properly. Otherwise they would immediately know about his condition. Surely is should not be beyond their gumption to enquire as to why my Father cannot get a spoon to his mouth, or detect that he has not eaten anything for 2-days straight. Why did my sister have to point out his condition to them in the first place? It later comes to light that he had not been eating for several days simply because he could not raise his elbow high enough to get a spoon to his mouth. How come these highly rewarded nursing staff missed that one also?

 

Obviously Stafford hospital keep my Father in overnight for checks and to administer tests, await results, etc. Meanwhile my sister and I discuss whether we can afford a private hospital for him, or just to kidnap him and take him somewhere else – anywhere else actually! Fortunately he escapes the next day, as their tests reveal sceptic arthritis, which is swiftly treated by medicines, and he is returned to the nursing home before Stafford hospital gets afflicted by its recurrent superbugs. I think they must breed these actually, and wonder if this is related to poor standards of basic hygiene?

 

Upon his return to the Nursing Home he makes good and steady progress. My sister has finally got the message across to them that he needs bullying into doing his exercises, and the physiotherapist is excellent. He was due to return home after 4-months, but then unbeknownst to anyone and due to the freeze that winter in Britain, a pipe at the top of the house had burst, flooding the insides and rendering them uninhabitable. Repairs take a couple of months, and all this time my Father is restricted to the nursing home. The irony is that had he been at home, he would have spotted the leak long before any permanent damage was done, and called for assistance.

 

He is insured by NFU, and for the very first time they actually honour the claim and all things are put into motion to rectify the problem. I cannot fault them, nor the back-up from community support services. It is a shame that Barclay’s Bank then decide to start being completely stupid. You see, between the time of the claim, and payment, his insurance premium is due for the next year – he had chosen to pay this annually. (It used to be slightly cheaper, and probably still is?) This debit had been in effect for … 50 years at a guess, or as long as recurring automatic debits have existed for sure. However his Branch maintained that he had put a total stop on all regular payments from his account – something he vehemently denies. Given that he is 89 and hospitalised, the bank refuse to acknowledge my sister as being in any way concerned with his banking practices. However, they promise to call her back at an appointed time, and do not. It transpires that only my Father can personally resolve this situation by attending in person at the bank, without my sister in the same room whilst discussions unfold. Therefore my sister takes time off work and collects my Father from the nursing him, and delivers him to the bank – simply so he can authorise payment to NFU. Unfortunately the bank manager is not there at the appointed time, and it appears they cancelled the appointment, but could not be bothered to inform anyone. A new appointment is later arranged with my Father, which my sister instigates and is party to.

 

The meeting takes place at the second attempt. Our Father is has an affable persona, has memory problems, and a little old-age dementia. He really doesn’t have a clue what the bank are taking about, nor why it should be a problem – because he has already signed a letter empowering my sister to deal with all his banking details … except, this is not as yet a Power of Attorney, and as such this makes my sister totally irrelevant to his banking needs and desires.

 

Meanwhile, NFU have had my Fathers Direct Debit bounced twice and are threatening to end his insurance policy forthwith because of non-payment. This effectually means that they will not pay for the repairs to his home either. The bankers are totally ambivalent, and really couldn’t care less. In a flash of brilliance, my sister deduces that the new arrangements actually took effect after the bank’s call centre rang my father one day, and suggested he cancel all transactions. I am sure he had absolutely no idea who they were or what they were talking about, and I doubt he could even hear them properly. He has learnt to say no to anyone asking for something over the telephone, as he is vulnerable to deception. Therefore if the bank operative asked him if he wanted to continue existing arrangements, he would have said “No”. If they had asked him if he wanted to change his existing arrangements, he would also have said “No”. He would conclude they were modern day telephone hustlers wanting to defraud him in some way.

 

Incongruously, it transpired that the bank manager told my Father that in order to set his bank payments back to how they used to be, he was required to ring their call centre and say so personally. This he did, and nothing changed. My sister in desperation, personally paid in a cheque directly to NFU so as to continue cover, and hence have repairs to his home completed. When later questioned about this, the bank stated that it appeared someone else (My sister) was in the room when the call was made, so they suspected he was under duress to make the call, and deleted his request.

 

Barclays have since refused to make this account into a joint account, and will only accept my sister’s authority under Power of Attorney. However, it would appear the situation has been resolved, as now she now pays all his regular bills by D/D or S/O from her personal account, and then my Father gives her the money every month to cover. We could laugh about this if it were not so mind-numbingly stupid! However, there is one silver lining – it appears that Barclays have accepted the fact that when they want to change things about my Fathers account in future, then this will be done at Branch level in person, and not via an unexpected and uncheckable phone call.

 

With NFU paid at last, despite my Fathers bankers best and most determined efforts to prevent this from happening; repairs continue and are completed over the next couple of months. As a consequence, my father and sister have now set up a new joint account with a different bank, which also has a branch you can physically go into. I wonder what his own Mother would have made of all these shenanigans? She was the first ever female bank manager in the whole of the United Kingdom, in the age of suffragettes and all that stuff. She could add up pages of figures in her head to more than 11 digits, at a time when that equated to 7 digits for millions of pounds, 2 digits for shillings (base 20), and 2 digits for pence (base 12), and extra digits for parts of an old penny (Usually base 2, 4, 8, [ha’penny, farthing and mite in case you don’t know]). This would also include guineas (Base 21, or rather base 20 + 1 carried over). Even I remember that there are 240 pennies in a pound sterling – but times move on, and so must we.

 

Eventually repairs to the homestead are completed, and our father is settling into life at the home. Whilst he has concluded that it isn’t too bad overall, he really does want to return home and to his independent life. From the day of his fall to his release from nursing home custody, almost 6-monthsd has passed…

 

Cummon! He only went in as an outpatient to have his broken arm reset.

 

Knick-knack paddy-whack, give a dog a bone – My old man came rolling home…

 

Having at last returned to where he has spent his whole life since the end of the war – that’s WW2 to you (The same one where we as a Nation last prevented Germany dominating greater Europe); he has regained some independence and personal equilibrium. This includes the wholehearted support of social services, community workers, and staff who man his emergency call button – a device which hangs around his neck, and which he now knows how to use correctly. So; all was very fine until BT did some work just up the road in late June 2010.

 

BT managed to disconnect his landline, something they adamantly deny and say is a fault within his home. They have a call centre which my sister and others ring several times each day, and the staff answering are extremely polite, considerate and helpful. Unfortunately, they do not appear to have any relationship whatsoever with their maintenance crews. I suspect they are both subcontracted out to unrelated service providers, probably located in different world countries.

 

After a couple of weeks – bearing in mind my Father’s emergency call device is linked through BT – so doesn’t work anymore, they schedule an appointment to come out and check. My sister took time off work, leaving her mobile number … only for nothing to happen. The next day, after ringing them again, she was informed that the ‘technicians’ tried to call her, and that was when they discovered that their BT phones did not work because of a fault. The good news was that they had already actioned this, and the BT technicians phone would be repaired in two-weeks time. We must guess that in the meantime they were still going to work, only to find they could not work because of the extant fault? I presume they were not capable nor skilled enough to fix this fault themselves then = Makes me wonder?

 

On 5th August the fault is repaired by another set of BT technicians, and after my sister rings BT several times (Note: not the other way around = BT do not ring either my Father nor my sister to follow-up); a new appointment for disservice is arranged. As this is a high priority case, the appointment is rushed through for Saturday 14th August. I consider this disgusting service for anyone not in dire need, never mind those that are … but so far have the standards of BT fallen, that we must be grateful to them for even bothering to try and service their paying clientele – or the people that actually pay their bosses fat-cat bonus’ + the workers that get any monetary morsels left-over as compensation for their slothful travails.

 

Therefore, on Friday 13th August, my sister gets a call on her mobile whilst she is driving. Being a good citizen, she does not answer immediately, but calls back once she has pulled over safely. No reply. The next day she rings BT, only to discover the call the previous evening was from their ‘technicians’, who were able to come ‘now’. Having not received a reply, they then decide to cancel the previously arranged appointment for the next day! Apparently their telephone is one that only allows outgoing calls, and rejects incoming calls. I guess that’s progress? Nobody bothered to inform my sister about the cancelled appointment, which meant she waited for them not to arrive, again!

 

Please be aware that each call to a BT call centre takes upwards of 40 minutes to be answered, and usually just within one hour. Calls usually have to be referred to second line support = a further 10 minutes. In the interim, my Father has been with his useless emergency call button, and without his landline phone or any means to use the emergency call button effectively for slightly over 1-month now.

 

He is guilty of being old, that is true. He is also guilty of laying down his life to preserve an independent United Kingdom, and preserving the freedom’s and status quo that modern companies have come to take for granted.

 

But should this also mean he is denied the telephone services (He is paying for) by our Nations’ foremost telephone network supplier?

 

The world has changed very much since I was a child, and even more so for my Father; in so much that he really doesn’t really understand mobile telephones very well, and when he uses them, he tends to press them too tightly to his ear – around the same place where the ‘off’ button is so inconveniently located. Even though he has a mobile ‘specifically designed’ for use by oldsters, this is hopeless actually.

 

Whoever designed it has never witnessed an old person trying to use a mobile phone; and has definitely never tried to talk to one who is using one! Instead designers simply make the buttons bigger, simplify the menu system, and forget about everyday usability.

 

My question is: Why does my Father feel the need to press the phone so closely to his ear in the first place? Is it a dependency factor – I really do doubt it hahaha! Is it because he likes to feel the reminiscent earpiece to his ear – partly perhaps, but these modern phones do not have earpieces, full stop. What he understands is an old style telephone which has separate earpiece and speaking bit at other end of a handle. The buttons are all on a separate unit, and when he puts the phone down, it stops working. That works! Unfortunately, no mobile phone manufacturers or providers have yet come up with any design remotely useful to those of a previous generation.

 

However, the real reason why he feels the need to press the earpiece so hard into his ear is simply because he cannot hear! Even I, an experienced user of mobile telecommunications, have occasionally had to check the position of the mobile’s speaker in relation to my ear. Some models are better than others, but it happens sometimes to every unit all the same. You know, the perfectly designed handset has long since been discarded in the rush towards modernism, at the vast expense of user ability.

 

As for BT, well I think they should stop pretending to provide telecommunication services and become international bankers instead. That way their fat-cat bosses will get handsome and undeserved payments and bonus’s for work ineffectually completed.

 

As my Father enters his 90’th year without any form of self-initiated communication with the outside world, I wonder how our standards of morality and national ethics have degenerated so far as to allow him to live in the English countryside, several miles away from his nearest physical neighbour – with a telephone BT are unable to fix for 7-weeks, and counting…

 

Needless to say, he did not receive any calls on his 90th birthday, because his line was still out of order. I would personally like to congratulate BT on rendering a simple telephone network that has worked perfectly for generations, as being totally unobtainable to their most needy of customers. This is written into their company articles as a ‘Duty of Care’; which is flouted as readily as Arabs dodge parking tickets in London's West End. No doubt this negligent culpability will in due turn net their bosses an even bigger, multi-million Pound bonus’ for next year!

 

Meanwhile 8-weeks on and counting, and my elderly Father remains without a landline telephone – the only type of telephone he understands. Neither does his emergency call button work, but he still wears it and presses it occasionally when he is in dire need of immediate personal or medical assistance…

 

Let me remind you all of what my Father thought of them: “I’d shoot the lot of them!”

 

and I have a big problem disagreeing with him.

 

 

Postnote:

 

We are now entering the middle part of September 2010, and my Father is still without a landline telephone, and consequently his emergency call button. BT continue to obfuscate their deniability, but remember to send him a bill for the services they are derelict in providing.

 

I dither and dally between informing either OFTEL or The Daily Telegraph about his predicament, and must decide this week what to do for his best interests, as we now enter month four of no telecommunications – all courtesy of BT. I am happy to note they have now sent him a Final Reminder to pay for the services they have not been able to supply, so maybe you will see this old man in court someday soon, as this appears to be their only interest in my Father.

 

I consider this to be disgusting conduct, but then, I am his son … so what does it matter, unless it happens to you or your loved ones?

 

But my point is this – both with hospitals that put patient care last, and telecommunications companies = both have a duty to their clients and a Duty of Care, or should have. Yet we witness time and again that the only people being cared for are their corrupt bosses who bag millions of pound’s worth in Bonus, whilst the integrity of the services they offer becomes less and less.

 

How markedly these situations contrast with the excellent service offered in China – and not just once but repeatedly. Telephones are normally installed within 24 hours, 7-days a week. The working day appears to be a least 12 hours, and applies equally to landline installations and their version of broadband called ADSL. The fitter will also connect your computer(s) to the internet and ensure all is working perfectly before he leaves. He will also give you his personal card just in case you have any problems of future requests. I have called twice concerning small matters both in Foshan and Toisan, and each time the fault or extra service has been dealt with within a couple of hours by the original fitter, once on Sunday evening! I simply cannot fault this tremendous service.

 

Hospitals are efficient, if a little odd to people from UK. Their first priority concerns payment, and once this is established (Usually by providing a credit card and number or insurance details) everything progresses smoothly. Each ward has its own specialised Doctor, who is in charge of a team of nurses and administration staff. Whilst all professional qualifications are respected, there is not the vast divide as appears so very often in Western hospitals, where Consultants behave like gods appearing before their vassals and serfs. Instead, they form a cohesive team whose only interest is the patients’ wellbeing. Charts and other paperwork are promptly completed and double checked by more senior staff – several times each day. All injections (Apart from inoculations) are administered intravenously via drip, a far more beneficial process than simply inflicting them all into an unsuspecting muscle and leaving them to take their chances against the body’s natural defences and natural wastage systems.

 

How this contrasts with my poor Mothers situation, where several times we had to go searching through several wards in order to find a nurse to ask for water, or to change a dressing they had forgotten to renew. A Chinese ward has one way in (Plus emergency exit at the other end) and has a general staff office near the entrance. The Doctor has a separate office adjacent, with nearby rooms for storage and one for hot water, with flasks available for use by patients. The maternity ward I am describing had 3 admin staff on duty at all times of day and night, and their main job was to track a patient’s expenditure and ensure enough funds have been deposited for treatment. They also ensure that no overpayment occurs, and are responsible for auditing any appropriate new charges or refunds.

 

The nursing staff on duty have their own room adjoining which is open to view by the general public, as is the Admin room. The ward does not have open public wards, but instead offers about 20 smaller rooms which normally have two occupants. There is space for three beds in each, but this is a very rare occurrence. Each room is complimented by its own bathroom, albeit of typical Chinese standard. This ward is also continually staffed by 10 dedicated nurses of differing levels, or if you prefer – one nurse to every 4 patients. The emergency call button works and is answered within 20 seconds – something we discovered by accident ‘ah-hem’ one night. Camp beds are available for immediate family (Including ‘boyfriends’) and visiting hours are unrestricted apart from times when a patient’s privacy needs to be respected.

 

My point is that whilst some Chinese hospitals may not have state of the art medical equipment (Although many do), the emphasis is entirely upon caring for those in their charge. When I compare this with patient’s in British hospitals suffering dire renal failure caused directly by dehydration, simply because nursing staff were too busy with paperwork to have time to bother ensuring their patients had anything at all to drink for three days straight – well words fail me. This poor man also had a tube put into his throat, for life, as the lack of fluid also irreparably damaged his vocal chords, rendering them useless. I am glad I am living in a country where a patient’s wellbeing is put first. For British hospitals to then neglect to fill in a patient’s charts, obviously to cover-up the fact fluids (and presumably meals also) had not been administered for three days, then you have to look at criminal negligence against the people who run such a disgusting disservice.

 

It is high time Britain looked to dismiss those in charge of such fiasco’s, and instead of rewarding them with outrageous bonus payments, pressing criminal charges and recouping monies paid from those who do not perform. At a time when the new raft of austerity measures that are due to take hold of personal finances over the coming months, I look forward to the fallout from the annual Banking bonus announcements due this Christmas. Here we have another group of avaricious bosses and interlopers seeking gratification and huge bonus payments as a reward for wrecking the world economy, and causing such deep remedial measures that will not affect the rich like themselves, but rip coins from the pockets of the poor people that bailed them out for generations to come. They got it so disastrously wrong and should be the ones that pay.

 

Perhaps China has not yet encountered this problem with their executives, and perhaps it is due in turn. However, today I remain convinced that Florence Nightingale would be horrified by the atrocious state of our public health service. I also believe that if my Mother had been treated for her small original complaint in any Chinese hospital, then she would still be alive today.

 

I also believe that had some opinionated and unidentifiable social worker not insisted that our father be kept in for observation – because he slipped whilst turning on an icy path he personally cleared, then he would have returned home the same afternoon. This is the person ultimately responsible for all my fathers’ woes and 6-months incarceration against his free will. I would think it just that she and her department of busy-bodies get charged the full fiscal amount for her error, and have their own minds re-adjusted so that in future they can deal with serious and relevant problems, not inventing easy targets behind their cloaks of anonymity and self-righteous deceit.

 

I am very inclined to side with my Father when he states quite unequivocally: “I’d shoot the lot of them”.