中My surgeon finally called, “May I speak to Dr T please?”
“Speaking. You must be Mr J,” I recognised the voice straightaway.
I started by telling him how I thought he might have succumbed to COVID-19 when he wasn’t reachable. He said he’s all fine and the risk of infection was low, because he was meeting very few patients everyday ever since the ENT outpatients department implemented social distancing measures in the waiting room. What worried him more were his independent but elderly in-laws, both itchy to get out and missed their mobility during the lockdown. The best he could do was to keep reminding them to stay safe. He then asked how my parents were coping. I said they’re very cautious and staying at home for most of the time, so I felt safe for them.
After the small talks, he confirmed that there were no new concerns from the CT scans, which showed normal bone anatomy. Compared to the MRI scan images three weeks prior, there was no significant tumour growth. So that’s the good news. The bad news was that the operation indeed had to be postponed due to COVID-19. After all, there’s an increased risk of contracting the virus in hospitals, so for patients like me it was best to stay away for the time being. Before ending the call, he made it absolutely clear that I must contact the ENT outpatients department without delay if my symptoms worsened, in which case they would reassess the timing of the operation.
It was a call that I actually enjoyed, even though the surgeon broke some bad news. That’s not only because of the candidness and thoroughness of his explanation, but also because of the care he always showed towards my family. Of all the members of staff I met at the hospital, my surgeon was the only one who would always send his regards to my parents, reminding me to reassure them that my tumour was curable. I was also surprised by how he addressed me at the beginning of the call, that he remembered and cared about such trivia which wasn’t on my official medical records. For those who aren’t familiar with how surgeons are respectfully addressed in the UK, they might have thought that we had swapped roles!*
Having considered the pros and cons, I decided to wait for my turn at the NHS hospital. By then, unrelated to affordability, going private was out of the question anyway, because all private hospitals in the UK unprecedentedly agreed to relieve the NHS by taking on urgent, non-COVID cases at cost. Giving the beds to the most needy patients was clearly the right thing to do. Between a queue for free care and one for expensive care, it made sense to go for the former. Moreover, an NHS medic friend reminded me that the post-operative recovery support at NHS hospitals is more comprehensive, so there were benefits in going for NHS care in general.
Life during the waiting months couldn’t be more “normal”, similar to the waiting weeks before receiving the final diagnosis. I am especially grateful that I had no pain at all. The only complaints I had, at the run-up to the operation, were increasing difficulty in speaking and a partially blocked airway when lying down to sleep, all because the tumour was weighing my tongue down and pressing on my sinus.
April and May came and went with the usual busy work schedule. At the end of May, an international pharmaceutical company signed a multi-year agreement to purchase an enterprise licence for the software that I launched with my team. The delayed operation was kind of a blessing in disguise, since I would otherwise have been on sick leave when the contract was signed. The privilege of witnessing this key milestone and celebrating it with my dedicated team meant a great deal to me.
By June, I would give the friendly admissions coordinator a call from time to time to see if there was any news. One day in the third week, she revealed that there was a good chance that I would be booked in for July. In any case, I would get at least two weeks’ notice, since all surgical patients must self-isolate at home for 14 days prior to the operation to minimise the risk of contracting COVID-19. She added that a surgeon called Mr F would do the operation, with Mr J assisting in the theatre.
What? Why the last-minute change?
Who’s this Mr F that I haven’t met before? Was he as trustworthy as Mr J? And how did she mean by Mr J “assisting”? I dared not ask any questions, in case she misinterpreted that as me being dissatisfied and put my operation on hold further.
A few days later, I got booked in. 20 July was the date.
Looking back now, I was so very fortunate. By April 2021, one year into the pandemic, the number of patients on the waiting list for non-urgent NHS operations reached 4.7 million in England (not including Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland), of which about 380,000, that’s roughly 10%, waited for over a year. (Pre-pandemic, only 1600 patients would be waiting for this long.) While waiting, many patients suffered from pain or reduced mobility, some even lost their jobs due to declining health. Compounded by the onslaught of emotional and economic hardship from the pandemic, heart wrenching stories were far too common.
* There’s an interesting tradition in the UK that distinguishes surgeons from physicians by referring to the former using titles “Miss/Ms/Mrs/Mr” and not “Dr”. See more details in this FAQ from the Royal College of Surgeons of England.