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Why I’d rather be ill at home
• I REMEMBER going into hospital in 1952. The immaculate ward, the dedicated nurses – their hair neatly backcombed, their good manners – the friendly doctor who didn’t mind my asking questions, and the matron, the ultimate professional. When I left, the lady washing the stairs wished me “good luck and good health”.
Today, going to hospital is just simply a nightmare. The loos look like Beirut, spotlessness is a thing of the past. The staff are either absentminded or ill-trained, and the doctors are busy on their computers – they don’t even notice their patients. They are treating a number, not a person.
I’d rather be ill at home, and die at home.
NAME SUPPLIED
Goldhurst Terrace NW6
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