So … a slightly better today. You know, fewer hours spent limply weeping on the floor, less psychic pain, more constructive action … loosely interpreted, of course: let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Thought things might be looking up when I was told the backlog of information I need to be transferred from Institution H to my doctor had arrived. This needs to happen very shortly, or my driver licence will be suspended (yes, folks, this is what happens if you’re an honest woman who lives in the glorious state of Victoria … but more on indirect discrimination and VicRoads another time). Of course, my GP ought to be informed as a matter of course when I’m admitted to hospital, when I’m discharged, and what’s gone on in between. He’s received nothing for my three admissions this year, and – despite what I was told – nothing in the last 24 hours. Yeah, I mighta gone just a tad nuclear in the letter writing department when I got home; but a girl’s gotta do, right? Can’t imagine life in the burbs without a licence. And institutional incompetence really pushes my buttons.
Oh yeah, speaking of incompetence, I can’t remember whether I mentioned that the pharmacist who wrote up my meds sheet for discharge left at least three prescription medications off the list. This is not good: a less alert patient may have ended up on a different medications regime than her or his specialist intended. Yeah, I see that ending well.
Well that’s about it for now. Could possibly ramble on a bit more but reckon this is sufficient.
‘Til later …