Common sensennow replaced by beaurocracy and MRSA. Also you can't choose your doctor. It's not free you pay via taxaction. Quoting rayilynlee <[log in to unmask]>: > I found the British healthcare system to be characterized by common sense > and decency when my mother was hospitalized in Georgetown, the Cayman > Islands in 1978. I was given a free room and food because there was a free > room and enough food. She paid around $250 for a five day stay. > Ray > > > Why I love Britain's socialized healthcare system > As I learned when my newborn daughter was very sick, in U.K. hospitals, > people take care of each other > By Stephen Amidon > Aug. 22, 2009 | > > My eldest daughter had a rough first week. Born after 22 hours of hard > labor, her pink skin proceeded to turn an alarming shade of yellow on the > second day of her life. It was a bad case of jaundice. She would need to be > placed in an incubator, whose ultraviolet light would hopefully clear up the > > condition. If not, a transfusion would be required. My exhausted wife and I > watched in numb horror as our child was encased in the clear plastic box > that was to become her crib for the next seven days. What we had hoped would > > be a straightforward delivery had turned into a nightmare. > > Because I am American, and those endless days and nights were spent in a > maternity hospital in London, the week that followed has been very much on > my mind as I listen to the recent attacks on the British National Health > Service. It is a system that I found to be very different from the one > currently being described as "evil" and "Orwellian" by politicians and > commentators eager to use it as an example of the dark side of public > medicine. > > I was initially skeptical about the NHS. I'd grown up comfortably in > suburban New Jersey; good private healthcare was always immediately > available through my father's insurance. When my English wife became > pregnant soon after we settled in London, I was alarmed by the idea of > having our first child born in a system I had been told was underfunded, > overstressed and inefficient. After all, healthcare in the UK was free. How > good could it be? Friends and relatives back in the States were spending > thousands to have children. If you get what you pay for, I was about to get > a whole lot of nothing. > > My first glimpse of our prospective hospital was not promising. It seemed > crowded, aging and apparently devoid of the gleaming, beeping equipment I > associated with modern medicine. But our neo-natal class actually helped me > prepare for the upcoming birth, and the scans we received afforded the same > miraculous fetal glimpses we would have gotten back in New Jersey. Come > delivery day, an impressive team of midwives, nurses and anesthesiologists > attended my wife's long labor, all of them respecting her request not to opt > > for a cesarean section. When things got sticky at the end, a senior > obstetrician appeared and the monitoring equipment beeped reassuringly. > > Directly following the birth, we were taken to a large ward whose 20-odd > beds were separated by curtains and changing tables. It was visiting hour; > the place was alive with excited relatives, shellshocked fathers and the > constant susurrus of hungry new life. That first night, however, the > atmosphere grew peaceful. Crying babies were attended immediately by > sensibly-shod nurses so that others could sleep. But it was after my > daughter began to turn the color of saffron rice that I really began to > appreciate the NHS. The moment she showed distress, we were whisked off to a > > private room, where we were looked after by a no-nonsense pediatrician and > the imposing Irish ward sister, or chief nurse, who quickly made it clear to > > me that my sole useful contribution to the whole process had come nine > months earlier. Blood was drawn regularly from our daughter's tiny heel; > test results came back promptly. The meals were surprisingly edible. I even > developed a taste for the milky tea brought to me by kind nurses. My only > complaints over the following week were that the free cookies in the father's > > lounge were always running out. And for some reason the ward sister kept > giving me withering looks, no matter how dutifully I attended to my family's > > needs. > > As my blindfolded daughter slept in the incubator's eerie violet glow, I > would take occasional strolls through the ward. It was the most egalitarian > place I had ever seen. The yuppie woman honking into her newfangled cell > phone, the young Pakistani mother who always seemed to be surrounded by a > half-dozen gift-bearing relations, the self-sufficient older woman desperate > > to get home to look after her other children -- all of them were cared for > in exactly the same manner. Whoever needed help got it. When a terrified > Afghani girl arrived, rumored to be only 14 and apparently abandoned by her > family, several nurses dropped what they were doing to teach her the > rudiments of child care. The rest of the mothers waited patiently until they > > were finished. Other wards were the same. There was no private wing with > champagne service. Everybody was in this together. If you were a woman and > you were in labor and you were in our part of London, this is where you > came. If things went wrong, skilled doctors appeared with the latest > technology. Nobody asked about insurance or co-pays. > > This, I learned, is what the NHS is about -- common decency. It is about the > > shared belief that all the people who live in the United Kingdom constitute > a society, and a decent society provides certain necessities for its > members. Freedom from hunger is one. Police protection is another. Free > healthcare from the cradle to the grave is simply one more item on this > list. > > I saw this decency at work countless times over the following decade, until > my return to the United States. I saw it with the twice-daily home visits by > > community midwives for the fortnight after each of our newborn children's > release from hospital, and in the vouchers for free milk we were given for > those babies. I saw it when our GP paid us a house call early one Sunday > morning to treat our son's spiking fever. > > I saw it most clearly, however, in the treatment my in-laws received at the > end of their lives. My wife's father, who suffered from acute myloid > dysplasia, spent his last year receiving constant care, including several > sprints to the hospital for emergency transfusions, where doctors struggled > heroically to keep him alive. His final week was spent in a very comfortable > > single hospice room whose French doors opened onto a terrace overlooking his > > beloved Yorkshire moors. When he died, he left us his house, and not a penny > > of healthcare debt. My mother-in-law, stricken by arthritis, got two > artificial hips and two knees from the NHS, and received daily home visits > from social workers during the last three years of her life so she would not > > have to go into a nursing home. Neither of these septuagenarians was working > > at the time. The amount of money spent on their care must have been > staggering. And yet, despite shouldering this yoke of decency, the nation > prospered around them. People were buying French wine and German cars and > second homes. They were attending Cats and supporting Arsenal and going on > holidays in the sun. Sure, people complained about the NHS. But the British > complain about everything. Living without a public health system, on the > other hand, was unthinkable. > > On the day we were finally given the all-clear, there were no papers to > sign, no bills to settle. All we had to do was remove our daughter's > blindfold and go. But I felt I had to leave something behind. So I rushed > down to the local corner shop and bought several tins of cookies to give the > > staff who'd looked after us so well. As luck would have it, the Irish ward > sister was the only one at the nurse's station when I arrived. > > Before I could explain myself, she gave me a tight, approving smile. > > "Wondered when you'd start chipping in," she said, returning to her > paperwork. "Just leave them in the father's lounge." > -- By Stephen Amidon > > > Rayilyn Brown > Director AZNPF > Arizona Chapter National Parkinson Foundation > [log in to unmask] > > ---------------------------------------------------------------------- > To sign-off Parkinsn send a message to: mailto:[log in to unmask] > In the body of the message put: signoff parkinsn > ---------------------------------------------- This mail sent through http://www.ukonline.net ---------------------------------------------------------------------- To sign-off Parkinsn send a message to: mailto:[log in to unmask] In the body of the message put: signoff parkinsn