Lynn is thankful to be alive to tell the tale

It's not uncommon to hear grievances about Ireland's healthcare system. Tales of crowded accident and emergency departments (A&E) , a scarcity of doctors, and patients languishing on trolleys for hours or days send shivers down the spine.

Fortunately, for most of my life I had been spared the ordeal of visiting the emergency department. The sole occasion was years ago when I broke my collarbone playing football in secondary school and sought treatment at the casualty department in Roscommon.

Avoiding A&E had been my norm until Tuesday, February 6th, the day after the new Bank Holiday. Experts caution against falling ill after a Bank Holiday weekend, but alas, my body chose to disregard this advice.

Quick background, I didn’t feel great over the weekend. I was having issues sleeping (had been for over a week), coughing a lot, feeling phlegmy and generally tired. It was getting bad but not bad enough to ring WestDoc. I have faith in my own doctors and was going to wait for them. Tuesday came and I was worse. I couldn’t go to work and needed to see my doctor. Tuesday after a Bank Holiday, I’ll be lucky.

I rang but sadly there was no appointment available for the day or the week. How did all these people know they were going to be sick on Tuesday I wondered? How come the appointments were all gone? I was puzzled.

I explained what was wrong with me, I didn’t exaggerate, a mistake perhaps? But maybe there was something about my voice because I was told that she (the receptionist) would get one of the GPs to ring me back soon. That was about a quarter past nine and before ten to ten my doctor was on the phone chatting to me. She listened as I explained what was wrong and asked me if I could be in the surgery by a quarter to eleven. “You bet, I’ll be there, thanks a million”.

On arrival I was amazed at the crowds of people I saw waiting. There were loads of people outside every door and the doors were opening, names called, people entering the doctors’ rooms and later leaving, this might not be as bad as it seems. When my turn came, I eagerly presented my symptoms, expecting a quick resolution to my presumed chest infection.

I explained what was wrong and the doctor listened to my chest, her thorough examination led to an unexpected turn of events. She sent me across to a nurse who did an ECG, when she was finished the nurse turned to me and asked, “Hugh did you travel in on your own?”, a clue perhaps that I wasn’t going home. Concerned by my rapid heart rate, the doctor suggested further tests and promptly arranged for an ambulance to transfer me to the hospital.

They arrived, two ladies from Roscommon, the Loughglynn crew must have been elsewhere, they’re always busy I thought. This pair were brilliant and told me that we were going to Ballinasloe. “Either I look mad or pregnant”, I suggested. They laughed and decided the latter could be ruled out, wisely, the former remained an option. I was highly impressed by the way they examined me, checked everything, and transported me to Ballinasloe pulling into the entrance to Accident and Emergency at a minute to two o’clock.

Now I prepared for the worst. A&E after a bank holiday was going to be mad, maybe it was but I didn’t see it. I was in a queue behind two other ambulance trollies, eventually it was my turn to be quizzed and a nurse started to take my details from the crew. Before I knew what was happening, I was being pushed down through A& E and into the “Recuss Room” a team was there, and the crew started telling my story. I looked at the clock and it was 2.16 p.m. and I was being examined and treated. I saw nobody just the medics and they started their work. Not bad I decided, less than 20 minutes.

The team dealing with me there were fantastic. They were doing everything to try and sort my heart. It was like the song “my boy lollipop making my heart go giddy up”. It was racing, they wanted to bring it down below 200 and then below 100, they were confident, I was too, I had the utmost faith in them.

Throughout the evening, the medical staff continued their attentive care, addressing concerns such as fluctuating oxygen levels and respiratory discomfort. Despite the unsettling diagnosis of heart failure and a few other things, their expertise and reassurance eased my anxieties. All was grand until after midnight when there was a crowd around my bed and a doctor asking if he could cut into my artery to check blood and I said “you know what you’re at, keep going, just make sure I wake up tomorrow”.

As the night progressed, I found myself transferred to the Intensive Care Unit. I will never forget the feeling of terror, entering the unknown and fearful that this was it; the Garth Brooks song title was ringing in my head “if tomorrow never comes”. I was afraid to fall asleep and was talking to the staff almost in panic, almost saying don’t leave me, they didn’t. I must have fallen asleep but when I awoke a few hours later I was one happy camper, I’d survived I was still alive.

I was in the intensive care unit for a week, and I was treated very well, the doctors were great, the nurses outstanding, the chaplain reassuring, and the food excellent. Spoiled, waited on, and always greeted by a smile and my name.

The only thing that went wrong was one day I was being transferred from Ballinasloe to Galway by private ambulance. We were flying up the motorway and at the toll outside Ballinasloe there was a loud bang and a puff of white smoke. The ambulance was going no further, we had to wait on the side of the road for an hour and a half for another private ambulance to come and collect us and continue to Galway.

In a system often criticised for its shortcomings, my journey through the Irish healthcare system reaffirmed my faith in its ability to provide high-quality care when it matters most. From the prompt response of my GP to the dedicated efforts of the medical professionals at every stage of my treatment, I found solace in the unwavering commitment to patient well-being.

Truly, in times of crisis, the public sector shines brightest, offering a beacon of hope and support to those in need. I’m always thankful that I live in the West and again this time but really happy that I’m not in Limerick.