JENNI MURRAY: My night in A&E restored my faith in the NHS

This week, Jenni Murray shares her appreciation for the NHS after a night in A&E
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In recent years, it has been all too easy to complain about the NHS — and I’ve done my fair share of it. Yes, we clapped and cheered as doctors and nurses flogged themselves half to death during the pandemic, but then came not seeing your GP face-to-face, nurses striking for better pay, and junior doctors and now consultants doing the same.

This week, patients are said to be facing delays to crucial scans as radiographers stage a 48-hour walkout, and the Care Quality Commission has revealed that patients’ experience of emergency care is now the worst on record.

For me, though, the past three weeks have restored my faith in a system we all depend upon — the delivery of free-of-charge care at the point of need.

It all began on a Sunday night three weeks ago when my wretched cat took it upon herself to kick a very heavy glass ashtray from the kitchen work surface to the floor. She should not have been on the kitchen surface, and I do hope she didn’t know my bare right foot was between the falling object and the ground.

The pain was excruciating. There was a small cut but the swelling and bruising were phenomenal.

I’ve always been accident-prone but tend to be somewhat cavalier about my body’s ability to look after itself. I once carried on going to work, walking here and there, for three days with a broken ankle after falling down the stairs.

As I had a busy week ahead, this time I convinced myself it would be OK and carried on as normal — with a limp.

By the next weekend, the area around the cut was bright red and formed a substantial lump. Sepsis went through my mind, so I went to a local hospital walk-in centre.

They were warm and welcoming. They could X-ray to make sure my foot wasn’t broken, clean it, dress it and give me a prescription for antibiotics. If it got any worse, I should go to casualty at the Royal Free Hospital, where the doctors could do more if necessary.

By last weekend I’d taken all the antibiotics, the bruising was dying down but the lump had grown considerably. The scarlet skin around it was ominous and the throbbing pain was awful.

My son, a vet, and his wife, a consultant radiologist, insisted I needed further treatment and made me promise to go to A&E, as they call it, on Monday.

I took a taxi to the hospital. It was 6pm and I was somewhat alarmed by the writing on the wall — ‘Average wait time: four-and-a-half hours.’ So that hasn’t changed since the 1980s and 1990s when I spent hours with one or other of my two little boys, telling them everything would be all right and the pain would end.

There were dozens of us in the waiting room. After about an hour, my name was called. A delightful young nurse (goodness, they were all so young) took down a history of the ugly-looking foot, noted my temperature, did my blood pressure and oxygen, declared that everything was fine and ushered me back to the waiting room.

This week, Jenni Murray (pictured) shares her appreciation for the NHS after spending a night in A&E

Next the doctor would call for me. ‘How long?’ I asked the nurse. ‘Might be quite a while,’ he said.

Immediately I regretted my new habit of carrying a very small handbag; you can’t fit a book into a very small handbag.

By 8pm I was starving, but I didn’t dare leave to buy something for fear of missing my call to see the doctor. I must have looked pathetically lonely. Then a young woman accompanying her husband came over and asked if I’d like something to eat. She was going to M&S, so I gave her my card and she bought me a salad, an eclair and a cup of tea. She was a life-saver.

It’s curious how people sharing a distressing experience gather together — a reminder that we are all, on the whole, kind, helpful and warm individuals.

I began chatting to the woman next to me, who had a painful bite on her thigh. She had been in the same casualty department only a few weeks earlier with her daughter, who’d had a headache for several weeks. Meningitis was diagnosed and the whole family had to be isolated for a week.

She also struck terror into my heart by telling me her father had had an injury much like mine and had to have his leg amputated. She was quite light-hearted about it. He’s black and they gave him a white prosthesis. We shouldn’t have laughed but we did.

At 9pm came the call from the doctor. Young, handsome, charming and efficient. He would probably, he thought, have to lance it, but first another X-ray and a blood test to check for any infection. The consultant came to check his plan, then off we went.

We agreed it should be lanced, so I gritted my teeth. I think we were both a little disappointed when it didn’t explode with pus like an abscess. Just blood.

No sign of infection, so only lots of disinfectant and a dressing. Instructions to keep it raised, keep it dry and clean, and come back if I had any sign of a fever.

I left at 11.30pm, my trust in a thorough, effective NHS restored. But the question remains: why were so many people in A&E?

I think the problem lies with GPs. The combination of no quick appointments and a frustrating booking system drives too many of us to casualty, where at least we’ll be seen eventually on the day.

I was there for just over five hours in total, but I’m grateful for what turned out to be a thorough MoT — far more thorough, in fact, than anything many of us can hope for from our local doctor.

Why Musk really is a Twit

A long time ago, when Woman’s Hour moved to the morning, the Radio 4 controller suggested changing its ‘old-fashioned’ name to The Jenni Murray Show.

The editor and I fought for the old title and its focus, eventually bringing in an expert in marketing to fight our case. She said it was a trusted brand name and should stay.

So what is Elon Musk thinking about? Twitter isn’t perfect but the little blue bird was attractive and welcoming. What’s attractive about the negativity of a big X.

Here’s proof divorce doesn’t have to be toxic

Danielle Bux pictured on holiday with ex-husband Gary Lineker and their children in Ibiza earlier this month

Gary Lineker has put his foot in his mouth a number of times recently, and presenter Des Lynam is right — he should talk only about what he knows, which is football.

But he’s made no mistake with his ex-wife Danielle Bux. It’s so sad when a marriage ends in anger and recrimination but these two, seven years after their divorce and her remarriage, took a holiday to Ibiza and are said to talk to each other all the time.

People may no longer be able to live together, but it’s good to see a couple remembering why they loved each other at the outset.

It’s no surprise to me that Yorkshire pudding was voted Britain’s favourite regional delicacy. My grandmother’s were light and crispy, eaten with gravy as a starter; with gravy again with beef; and with lemon and sugar as a pud. If only she were still here to make her batter.

Bum-numbing Oppenheimer

Jennie was full of praise for Cillian Murphy (pictured) in Oppenheimer – but says it was otherwise ‘three hours of blokes talking to each other’

I saw Oppenheimer on Sunday and have no criticism of Cillian Murphy’s performance. His eyes alone told of his growing horror at the monster he had created and the realisation his wicked atom bomb would not bring peace and safety to the world.

Other than that, it was three hours of blokes talking to each other, often inaudibly, about things I will never understand.

Hard on the brain as well as the posterior.

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