London medicine: a fifth column. They haven’t heard of freedom and democracy or fact and reason for that matter
London medicine: paradise for the twee, for the brain-dead, for the narrow, for the ignorant.
People with negative intelligence, ignorant, irrational, illiterate, strut around ruling the roost, handing down edicts from on high that are frankly sectionable, wasting millions in public money with their stupidity and incompetence. They’re usually called ‘graduate’ nurse managers.
London medicine: hey, they kill you if you actually have a mind.
I contracted pneumonia. Firstly, it was inadequately treated. Secondly, I have surgically corrected spinal curvature, which means that my spine is straighter than it was before I had surgery but not very straight: it intrudes in an S-bend into space the lungs could use. I was life-threateningly ill and ended up in London’s major chest hospital. It took me a long time to recover.
I had been debilitated before that by gross overwork, doing another person’s research project as well as my own work, the other person being too thick to do her own research project.
After I made it clear that I could not do the long hours culture any more, work was deliberately piled on me – other people’s work, particularly that of one of those brilliant ‘graduate’ nurses and that of a nasty little bitch of a secretary. I became exhausted beyond hope, crawled out in a state fit to be tied.
I had been going to temp, a jolly carefree existence with few work responsibilities and plenty of time to rediscover London. I got pneumonia again and had the energy levels of a dead cat. Although vaccinated with Pneumovax, I had hideous debilitating chest infection after hideous debilitating chest infection, what I nicknamed ‘not-pneumonia’ although technically it was pretty hard to tell the difference, coughing from my waist, from that barren landscape from which coughing had blown away the lung tissue I nicknamed the swamp where all secretions settled.
I thought about what had happened to me a lot, based on my knowledge of the people concerned and the fact that I have hammers and sickles in my genes. It seemed to me to stink, though of course there was nothing I could prove.
The options were that I had offended orthodox religious people – a Taoist inclined daughter of the atheist feminist Left would - and/or that I had offended the materialist, we are all chimps, monkey-boys in Oxford with whom my department was closely associated – a Taoist inclined hippy, we are stardust, we are golden, and I am jolly bright, this is because I have a mind, daughter of the atheist feminist Left would. In particular my support for Salman Rushdie – a Taoist-inclined hippy atheist feminist literary daughter of the Left would - might have rubbed religious Nazis, whether Catholic or Muslim, up the wrong way.
I reported the whole pitiful crap scenario, all the shallow, empty-headed little morons I’d come across, to MI5. I played it down, reckoning it was probably just stupidity and spite.
In particular I omitted the Chinese post-doc living in five-star conditions. I suspect that was because I thought they already knew about him and he was either innocent or not, and I didn’t want to seem any more paranoid than is entirely natural when medical professionals have set out to wreck your health.
My boss there went on to be President of the Royal College of Physicians and to get a CBE. Who knows, this may conceivably be relevant to what happened next. Yes, it’s the Carol Black Show!
I also got on the Web, putting up a site that took the mick. When I wrote to MI5 I wanted to tell someone. I didn’t then want a major publicity stunt. I thought I could do the crucifying. I didn’t then realize what I was up against. I still don’t, as you’ll see, since no-one’s talking, only that it’s large and ugly.
Eventually I reached safe haven, I thought, landed a nice job as a PA. I was made to push heavy trolleys laden with hospital notes around and shoved in a leaking attic with a couple of layabouts who did nothing going on minus. I felt someone from my previous workplace had come sneaking round and I got very upset.
I got even more upset when I started to suffer back pain for the first time since my surgery 30 years previously. The Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital confirmed heavy manual labour could damage my spinal surgery.
When this penetrated the unicellular organism called the brain of management, I was moved to a space the width of a chair without connection to the internal network, so making doing my job extremely difficult. Manual handling hazards abounded on all sides. I mean, when you’ve already threatened someone’s spinal fusion, whether through ignorance or through malice, what you naturally do is put her in conditions to threaten it some more.
The layabouts were black, so I suppose I’m supposed to be a racist. Sadly for the lives of managers I’m not. I have a multi-racial family, a coloured friend then lover in my past, a life dotted with anti-racist activism.
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Written by Ysabel Howard