I had my first experience of a private hospital this week.
Nothing serious. I was referred there by my GP because the ‘issue’ I have is considered cosmetic and not something the NHS wishes to spend public money on, which is fair enough.
Anyway, I arrived in good time - 45 minutes before my appointment - but there was a problem. Although it was a modern building, there were simply not enough parking spaces.
Round and round I went, looking for somewhere to park, without success. And I wasn’t alone.
A woman in a Range-Rover was also looking for a parking space. She followed me, then I followed her. Eventually, as we were both turning, we caught one another’s eye and shrugged, then laughed.
Others had double-parked, blocking cars in. I didn’t want to do that but parking on the road outside the hospital was prohibited and the nearest residential roads - we were in a leafy, expensive part of town - were a quarter of a mile away and designated as ‘private’ and ‘resident parking only’.
The clock was ticking and I was beginning to get stressed so I drove back to the hospital and parked in one of four bays reserved for disabled drivers directly outside the entrance. (Well, I have been suffering from gout.)
Fortunately, when I explained the situation at reception, they were perfectly all right with it.
“That’s fine,” said the receptionist, smiling and pointing me to a device that asked me to register my registration number.
This being my first time there, I then had to fill in some forms and give them my credit card details. Payment, they said, could be made online when I got home - they would send me an invoice.
I was then asked to sit in the waiting area (soft, soothing muzak played in the background) until I was called for my 30-minute appointment which was scheduled for 3.00pm.
And here’s the thing. At three o’clock prompt (or it may have been two minutes’ past), the consultant came out, called my name, and in I went.
That never (or very rarely) happens with the NHS.
I have arrived at an NHS hospital for an 11.00pm appointment (a scan, for example) and had to wait one or two hours.
Or I’ve gone to my local GP for a 9.00am appointment and been seen at 9.20, the timetable already behind schedule.
(Ten-minute appointments are ridiculously short, btw. They really need to be 15 or 20 minutes, to allow the doctor to do the paperwork as well as see the patient, but I guess that would mean fewer people being seen and waiting lists being even longer.)
Anyway, my first taste of a private hospital was brief but, car parking aside, extremely efficient.
So too was the speed with which the invoice arrived, quickly followed by a quote for the relevant operation/procedure.
“That’s the cost of a holiday!” my wife gasped when she saw it, but I’m only following my GP’s advice.
“I’d have it done,” he told me a few months ago, having undergone a similar albeit smaller procedure himself.
Then again, as he also told me, he got “mate’s rates”.
Lucky man!