Post 9 Privation and Privatization

 

PRIVATEERS       November ‘21

(Privation: meaning: the state of being deprived of something; especially of what is necessary for comfort)

 (Privatization: meaning: to transfer from ownership by the state into private ownership)

How relevant in meaning is the second to the first
And yet, the second nearly always makes privation worse
I think it’s safe to say that the more in private grasp
The less we see equality; and owners held to task

How often are the poorest for their actions vilified
Across the globe they struggle, but mostly stay deprived
Working for the privateers, who profit from the gain
Of owning stuff that once was only in public domain

We cannot trust the Privateers to care for what they own
No state can tell them how to act; that bird has long since flown
They pollute with impunity; enslaving those that once were free
Taking all there is to give; laying waste where others live

The grip of private money fears not the public state
Their influential holdings will always be too great
They buy their way out of the need to shoulder any blame
For pollution or destruction; below the power of shame

Now, as the world reels from effects of creeping climate change
The privateers can keep their assets safely out of range
It’s private land and private water; private service too
No longer is control of such in hands of me or you

Privateers are creeping into every sphere of care
In health provision they clean up when welfare is not there
Their shareholders the only ones who profit from their greed
Of assets that were meant for all; to meet the common need.

 

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Why is that poem so relevant today? Because the NHS is slowly but surely being privatised. Outreach care, such as ophthalmology, dentistry, podiatry, occupational therapy, physiotherapy, and many other services that, once, it was possible to access quite easily, are now beyond the reach of those who cannot afford to pay for private treatment. The excuses of ‘shortages’ of staff and facilities are used as a smoke screen.

Some years before Covid  I read that our mental services, especially in the South of England, were now mainly in the grip of big private medical companies; following the American model of being paid per patient and length of stay. I read that, in the US, town mayors compete to secure these profitable contracts. Subsequently patients are kept in a state of drugged ignorance; profitable to the privateers, but with little attention given to their therapeutic needs; or prediction of when they can return to the outside world. I haven’t checked my facts lately, but I believe several establishments lost their contracts, because of the exposure of the poor care they were administrating.

And now we are watching the slow train crash of social care. Starved of resources, cash and staff, care homes are closing at an alarming rate. We are told that they will mainly be replaced by care in the home; which should be a good thing. As my hubby and I get older we hope to be able to receive appropriate care in the comfort of our own home. But what’s the betting that care will be a lottery; for those that have and those that do not.

Eleven years ago, on the 24^th of November, I was just coming round after an eight hour operation to remove a meningioma from the top of my spine. I was in Morriston hospital near Swansea. Outside the snow lay thick on the ground.

And, as I became aware that I was back in the land of the living, I thanked my lucky stars for our incredible NHS, staffed by dedicated proficient professionals; with an especially fervent thank you to my surgeon, a Mr Robert Redfern, who had not held back when outlining the dangers of the operation, some weeks before.

This year, on the anniversary of my operation, I again felt that relief, that my medical emergency happened over ten years ago. In 2010 my tumour was discovered on a Wednesday. My doctor phoned me at home on Friday evening to fast track me for my necessary pre op appointments. And three weeks later I was in hospital; ready and waiting for my fate. What chance of the same level of care in this year of 2021?

The following is a poem I wrote, two days before the op.

‘JUST A BIT’                       22^nd November 2010

“We only have to shrink it ‘just a bit’
The Surgeon said.
This tumour, growing in my head
Could see me dead

“It’s rather difficult you see”
The surgeon said
“This tumour growing in your head
Is wedged inside your vertebrae

Steroids should shrink it ‘just a bit’
A tiny bit
Enough to get at it
And stop it in it’s track
Before it breaks my back

And as we walk beside the seaweed hut
I cannot help but think
Please make this tumour shrink
Enough that I will see this all again

So, all we wish for is a bit of ‘shrink’
We only need a bit
A tiny bit
Just a bit.

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In the next blog I will try and achieve a more lighthearted theme; if I can find one!