Nee-Naw-Nee-Naw

It's got the goblins

There’s been a bit of a kerfuffle in the kraken cave in the last few days. I, The Kraken, was ambulanced to hospital with dangerously low haemogoblin levels (I know, I know, it’s globin not goblin but I prefer the latter. It’s more in keeping with the voices in my head). And you know what? Even in my state of fevered semi-consciousness, as I shat, puked and raved my way along the byways of my home town, I found something to blog about. 

Anyhoo, one blood transfusion, one endoscopy, one rectal examination, several pairs of paper knickers, three panicky doctors, numerous personal pleas for death and 257 blood tests later I am back at the helm of said blog with this to say: the NHS is fucking nirvana.

What you don’t think so? Well, fuck me, what more do you want for your tax dollar? As before, I’ve been booted back out into the world wondering what it is people find to moan about when it comes to the NHS. Yeah, there are moments of shittiness but compare that to the tsunami of care that sploshes over you from the moment you’re wheeled into A&E and it’s hardly a deal breaker. Its imperfections fade into nothingness when its employees have swabbed the drool from your chin at 3am and stuck a well meaning finger up your festering arse.

Why the fuck people want to abandon the NHS is beyond me. As with every other skirmish with my physical and mental health the NHS has showed me kindness in so many forms that it’s boggling. Payrolled strangers have held my hair out of my sick, held my hand when I’m bricking it, tucked blankets around my shivering feet and reassured me that I’ll live. Doctors have cracked jokes, nurses have gossiped and cleaners have chatted even when I splashed sick on their shoes or gagged at whatever they shoved into my gullet.

Perhaps I’m writing this while bathed in the glow of recovery, that this adoration is based entirely on the fact that I am no longer lying on my bedroom floor suffering palpitations and shitting over the shag pile. But nope, I don’t think so. This latest experience has just compounded what I have always thought: that the NHS is worth every groat, that we'd go to pot without it and that the Tories are complete and utter fuckers for trying to break it up.

Criticise it if you want but only in the way that you’d criticise your own mother. You know, how you’re allowed to pick holes in her as long as nobody else dares. So clutch the NHS to your collective bosom if only for delivering this kraken back to her cave. I mean, what the fuck would have happened had I not been around to blog? Ok, don’t think too hard about that one. Something tells me I may not like the answer...