Disgusted with South Devon health care

Now it's time for a real moan. My father-in-law (lovely man) is dying. He's 89 and had a slight stroke - see my advice in the blog below this - and was admitted to hospital.

He recovered sufficiently to be taken to another facility for convalescence. There he developed bed sores (poor nursing care?) and was returned to the main hospital for treatment. There he caught MRSA, and now his body is falling apart, because the infection is attacking the bed sores.

The hospital staff say they are sorry. There is nothing more they can do. Can they be blamed or is it the system?

That's bad enough - and will somebody please realise that we did not have such dreadful infections when each ward had its own ward cleaner. That lovely lady checked all the dodgy places every day. If she missed something the charge nurse found it. Then the ward sister's eagle eye was ever wary. Failing all these dedicated people we could rely upon Matron, a matriach who struck terror to all who stepped out of place.

Today we have a bully-boy contractor employing cheap immigrant labour, which have to be kept on the move so they are not deported, who are paid very little, and can't clean above shoulder height. The germs have now worked out how to survive this remnant of Thatcher's destruction and sit just above shoulder height, ready to drop MRSA on any old dears who pass by.

It gets worse. The doctors said there was nothing more they could do. Father-in-law was going to die, and should be sent home.

Hold on there! The social services then said, 'Oh no he can't.' Not until we have had six meetings with all relevant parties (except his family) to discuss his case. No date was given as to when a decision to let him out of hospital would be taken, and the social care worker refused to listen to the pleas of his two daughters, ready and willing to help.

By this time the family knew better than to ask what services would be available when this dying man did arrive home. They'd asked that previously, when faced with two social service officials conducting a home visit. These denizens had probed and prodded, checked and sniffed, questioned and hummed and haa-ed. They'd said he needed this, should have that, would need that changed, this moved and then perhaps all would be satisfactory.

All had looked very promising. The cavalry were waiting on the other side of the hill. Relief was at hand. Except it wasn't. That's what he really needs, they said. But we don't have any of that. We suffer from a lack of staff, money, resources and interest. So they left. He had no support provided.

Now they say he must wait in hospital, to be assessed. While GPs pick up over £100,000 a year, money is poured into a system that uses it to monitor progress and report back to the government.

This stroppy old git suggested the family go the hospital, and bring him home. All agreed except his elderly wife. She is utterly distraught by all that has already happened, and doesn't want to make a fuss - who does at her age? She's now at risk and wants to end it for both of them, they have had enough of this life. A sorry end for two wonderful people.

Patricia 'Am I supercilious' Hewitt purports to govern the health service. She says our heath service has never been better.

Go say that to my in-laws.