Arresting Cardiac Arrest

It is highly desirable that the medical profession , perhaps with a nudge from the Federal Government , develops a more responsive policy in handling cardiac patients. Some time ago the heart attack victim , Richard Carleton, a 60 Minutes reporter who underwent a bypass , did a show about his Sydney hospital which believed in a more rapid response to cardiac cases . This approach has obviously not spread throughout the public hospitals. In recent times there was a disconcerting report that the Townsville Public Hospital, which serves a large part of north Queensland , had closed its cardiac department because of what was described as the "toxic atmosphere " between members of that unit. A vision of fear and loathing among staff in an operating theatre is scary . In my case, involving a bypass in a public hospital after a helicopter evacuation, I was sent home for two months , eventually given an angiogram , sent home , called back for another angiogram , told to stay in bed for two weeks and variously told I was going to have a triple by-pass and a quadruple bypass. When I was wheeled into a dark room with blinding bright light , an alien in a mask appeared out of the gloom , grabbed my leg and demanded, "Who shaved your body ?" Eh? What a strange question. Before I sank into oblivion, I got out the fact that I had been the tonsorial artist. Then , probably sounding like Minnie Mouse or a drunken chipmunk, I tried to explain that a new wardsman,who looked like Merv Hughes, too shy to do the job, had thrust a recycled razor into my hand and told me to follow the instructions on a cardboard figure dangling from a doorknob in the linen room. As my eyesight is not the best and the razor clogged frequently , it seems I did not emerge as Mr Smooth. Nobody checked to see that I had been properly depiled. As luck would have it ,I did not make it to the Pearly gates , even though I saw the shimmering white lights at the end of the flight tunnel. Therefore , it would seem that sinners with legs like a hairy Yeti are no allowed on Cloud Nine. Finally coming to, I became aware that there was a shortage of wheelchairs to take patients into the ward. I finally scored one with a flat tyre which gyrated like a battered Woolworth's supermarket trolley , and had a bumpy ride to Hell with a drip on a stand which tugging at my leg. I say Hell advisedly because three TV sets played nonstop,two with screaming advertisements. The third , perched above the bed of a comatose patient next to me, was on some channel specialising in Disney like shows, another of my pet hates. The operation cut on my leg ran from my ankle almost to the groin . It must have been the hairy leg and bushy groin that made the surgeons lose their way in the undergrowth. Tuther day, I contacted a cardiac clinic in another hospital in another part of Australia , for a follow up heart check due to rising blood pressure and a pain or two . The receptionist put me on hold ; canned music played over the phone: the thumping beat of the James Bond tune, Live and Let Die. Not quite the right tune for old blokes with dicky tickers. I have been waiting for six weeks for notice of an appointment. My private GP shook his head and muttered,"Public hospitals!"

CYCLOPS