NotSheep

Those of you who follow me on Twitter might have noticed a bit of cyber-swearing this morning. I also did some real swearing down the phone to a friend, and a bit of weeping down the phone to Scratchy, out of exhaustion and sheer frustration.

Here’s the story.

About three weeks ago, I asked for some blood-tests, particularly a B12 level, as I’ve been so tired lately, and I’ve a history of B12 deficiency and it does leave you knackered. So the midwife came out and took the blood and sent it off for checking.

Last Tuesday, I got a phone-call from the midwife to say that my B12 was low, and so was my folate. It might sound odd, but I was quite glad to hear the news about the B12 - although the injections are nasty (they’re intramuscular hurt going in, then sting afterwards and leave you feeling bruised), they work, and it’s much easier to fix this than some other, more generalised cause of fatigue. And they work fast - I felt much better last time after only the first two or three of them. So I was quite keen to get going on them. But it has to be prescribed by a doctor, so she rang the midwife at the GP practice.

The GP rang me. Lots of “well we need to get these levels up” etc., and wanted me to have three injections a week. I said if she wrote the prescription, dh could pick it up and fill it that evening, and one of the community midwives could come out the next morning (that would have been Wednesday of last week) and give me the first injection. But oh no, that wouldn’t do, they had to be given in the treatment room at the surgery. Last time, the midwives gave them to me. At home. No problems at all. But this time I’d have to traipse into the surgery three times a week for them, although maybe after the first few we could see if the midwives “would be comfortable” giving them to me at home.

They’re midwives; if they’re not comfortable with intramuscular injections, they shouldn’t be doing the job.

And since the practice midwife was off all week, I’d have to wait until this week to start. So much for “we need to get these levels up”.

We’re a one-car family, and Scratchy takes it to work except when I need it (then he catches a bus in and I pick him up). So me going into the GP practice for an injection involves:
- Scratchy taking the bus (and the associated cost and extra time)
- me getting myself out of the house (which isn’t always the easiest thing to do at the minute - bear in mind that B12 deficiency leads to extreme fatigue)
- me getting five kids organised and out of the house - I could leave the older ones at home, but then I’d have nobody to watch the younger ones while I was actually getting the injection
- us all sitting waiting for my turn to go into the treatment room
- me bringing everyone home again
- me going to collect Scratchy when he finishes work (there is a bus, but it leaves a lot later than he finishes)

So at least two and probably nearer three hours out of my day - three times a week. Exactly what a person needs when she’s exhausted - extra stuff to make her more tired.

We finally arranged for the first injection to be given this morning, but in the community midwives’ office at my nearest health centre, rather than the practice where I’m registered. They seemed to think this would suit me better, although in fact it makes no difference at all to me. It’s a little closer, but I still need the car and it’s actually much more difficult to get parked. The community midwives are only in their office from 9 to 10 in the morning however (they’re out in the community, regularly driving past my house, the rest of the time). So this morning, Scratchy took the bus and I got all the kids up and fed and dressed etc and organised all the things that needed to be done this week - optician for Barney, vet appointment for Cass to get her stitches out, etc - for today, since I’d have the car. And I went to the health centre and got the prescription filled at the chemist there, and then I climbed two flights of stairs along with a two-year-old so that I could get the injection.

There was only a student midwife there, and a minute after I went in, she took a phone-call. All of the midwives except for one were at a meeting somewhere else, and the phone-call was from the one midwife who was supposed to be there to do my injection and cover the phones. She was phoning to say she was stuck in traffic.

And she said: “So just tell Deborah to go home and I’ll come by later and give her the injection there.”

If they’d just agreed to do that in the first bloody place I’d have been having my fourth injection today, rather than my first, and I’d probably be feeling a lot better by now! But oh no, that couldn’t be done, regardless of all the hassle it causes the patient - but if a midwife gets caught in traffic, well, it’s no bother at all.

And of course having rearranged everything else in my life, I wasn’t here all day today, so I didn’t get the injection at all. Will they decide they’ve caused enough trouble and come out and do it tomorrow? I’m stuffed if I know. Despite my needle-phobia, I’m off to google to find out where I can get needles and how to give it to myself, because I’ve only had two antenatal appointments this pregnancy and I’ve already had enough with being part of the bloody stupid system.

I will blog the rest of my day later, when I’m not so ranty.