moaning . . . again!

I had a call the day before Christmas Eve to tell me that G was being picked up by ambulance and taken to Watford General with a suspcted blood clot.  I met him there, at the Ambulatory Care Unit, where he was diagnosed as having DVT and asked to return the following day for a scan. 

The scan showed that he did indeed have a clot in his leg and he was prescribed with Rivaroxaban. 

Happily, the swelling subsided pretty quickly and he was asked to go to the Anticoagulant Clinic yesterday. 

Unfortunately, none of us could take him (Frankie and I were working, Stella's car is temporarily out of commission waiting for repair, Cat can't drive and Eric was on the Naughty-Boy-Speeding Course) so I organised transport for him. 

I don't know what happened but the transport didn't arrive.  I couldn't quite work out what did happen but anyway he managed to get to the clinic and also get home safely.  

In the afternoon the nice nurse at the clinic phoned me because she was concerned that G had not understood all the instructions / warnings she had tried to give him.   (G is now profoundly deaf).    She explained that he had that morning taken the last of his Rivaroxaban and the clinic had prescribed a further course.  She impressed on me that it was vital that he take these every day starting today.  When I asked how I could get the prescription she said I would have to phone the surgery and request them.  

I phoned the surgery; they said they couldn't take instruction over the phone (fair enough!) and that the hospital would have to fax over the presecription.  

I phoned the hospital back and asked them to do this.  They said they would do this straight away.

I phoned the surgery 40 minutes later to check but the fax hadn't arrived.

I phoned the clinic again and was promised that they would do it straight away.

I phoned the surgery and they had, this time, received it but when I asked about collecting the tablets they said I would have to phone the pharmacy to make arrangements.  

I phoned the pharmacy and they confirmed that they collected prescriptions from the surgery every day and that they would deliver to G next day (today).

I have been terrifyingly busy today so didn't phone the pharmacy until just after 5.00 to check that the tablets had been delivered.

They didn't have the prescription!

I then phoned the surgery and, after what seemed like a lot of hunting about, the receptionist told me that the prescription was still there and unfortunately, since collection had been missed, would not be ready until Monday. These are the pills that he must take every day!  When I asked whether I could collect them she said that I could and that the surgery was open for a further hour.  Phew! Just as well I work only about five miles away! 

When I did get to the surgery the receptionist apologised and said that this vital prescription had been 'put in the wrong box' which was why it had not been collected!

Fortunately the pharmacy was also still open so I got the meds (only half actually, the rest to be delivered on Monday) and took it round to G.

So All seems to be Well and has Ended Well!  But if this sort of treatment is general one wonders how the elderly manage when they do not have friends or relatives to help them? 

End of Moan!

Po x