10,000 page views are something very special.
More than me and my silly ankle deserve.
Something more than a negligent, incompetent consultant at St. Peter’s Hospital, Chertsey is worth.
You know there are days, weeks even, when there are so many hits. But there are other times when there are hardly any at all. It’s at those times I am very grateful to the small group of people who have always stuck with me through the tough times, who keep reading and make it possible.
It’s a time of the year to think back – to get nostalgic. I read again some early postings and thought I’d put this old one up again, it’s only the second one I did.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
How hard can it be?
It’s a really cold day, there's sleet lying on the ground from last night and I don't want to go out on it - I'm worried about falling. I've got some aches and pains. Then I got out my old laser printer and found that it’s so out of date the cable is from before the days of USB connectors. So, I have to decide, do I go out in the cold to buy a new cable or buy a new printer. Money's short so it’s probably just a cable (I know, I know, it won't work and then I'll have to buy a new printer anyway)
What I'm really doing is putting off when I have to put into words why I need to make a change at St Peter's Hospital, Chertsey. I really will do it tomorrow - but it will be difficult and emotional and in my heart I know it's going to be my last fight, so I'm putting it off.
This blog is really nice right now - no one knows about it - like a party just before the guests arrive.
When I get a printer sorted the real work begins; leaflets to be printed and put out, posters, pickets. A struggle to fight. I've got to get enough people together to help me shame them into spending £800,000, how hard can that be?
A year ago I didn't think I'd still be around - this Robert Frost poem kept me going through the really dark days, and somehow it seems made for today;
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
What a fabulous poem – so many meanings expressed in so few words.
‘The sweep of easy wind and downy flake’
A while ago I listened to a radio programme about that poem, where different people were asked what they thought it meant; their views ranged from thoughts of death, of life, of hopes and trials and obligations.
Best (and cleverest) of all were some very young children, who’d just learnt about the winter solstice at school (the darkest night of the year) and immediately assumed that the voice in the poem is that of Father Christmas about to start his great task.
When I started my campaign there were 4 consultants at St. Peter’s Accident and Emergency – I was demanding 10 which also happens to be the minimum that The College of Emergency Medicine believes is necessary for a safe A and E.
Now there are 6.
Still a few miles more to go before I sleep.
(a don’t stop till you drop production)
And if all that wasn’t bad enough, tomorrow some old fool does something rather silly.