It's true that our health services become more stretched at Christmas. Whether it's a rise in festive-related accidents or admissions from over-indulgence, or because vulnerable people are more likely to become ill in the cold winter weather, hospitals do become busier at Christmas. Added to this, staffing can be short over Christmas, and these things combined have the potential to lead to problems.
However, as someone who spent Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day in hospital back in 2013/14 - and had major emergency surgery on 2nd January - I can only praise the NHS for the care and kindness they showed to me during that time. Nurses and doctors work incredibly hard over the Christmas period, sacrificing days with their own families to care for their patients. While lots of us are cosying in with our Christmas dinner and Downton Abbey special on Christmas day, plenty of surgeons, consultants, doctors, nurses, dieticians, physiotherapists, porters, cleaners and others are working around the clock, saving people's lives and making them comfortable on some of the hardest days of the year to be in hospital.
When I was admitted to A&E on the evening of December 16th 2013 and diagnosed the next day with severe Ulcerative Colitis, I still held out hope that I'd be home for Christmas. As I was given my first dose of intravenous Prednisolone through a cannula, I was told by a lovely gastroenterologist that in most cases, a whiff of this drug under a patient's nose was enough to send their IBD into remission. As I'd never heard of IBD or Ulcerative Colitis before, I spent my days googling the condition, and soon came to realise just how serious it was, but had hope that the drugs they were giving me would work.
When after a few days the steroid treatment did nothing, being prescribed intravenous Ciclosporine dashed any hopes that I'd be going home for Christmas. When given via infusion as it was to me, treatment with this immunosuppressant requires constant supervision in hospital. I remember crying as I was told I wouldn't be going home for Christmas. Christmas Day in hospital sounded completely miserable. I remember saying to my mum that 'Christmas isn't happening this year, I'm not celebrating it', but thank goodness she put her foot down and said that festivities were going ahead, whether I was in hospital or not. When my mum and dad turned up on the 25th in head-dresses and santa hats and handed me my own one to wear, I knew I wasn't going to escape the Christmas spirit even if part of me wanted to.
Every single person working at the hospital did their utmost to keep Christmas 'festive'. The ward sister decorated Ward F21 with garlands, lights and even a Christmas tree. The Salvation Army did their rounds on Christmas Eve and sang us all carols (me and my dad broke down together over 'It Came Upon a Midnight Clear'). Porters whistled and sang Christmas carols as they wheeled me down for my daily X-ray, checking for signs of toxic megacolon. We all got a Christmas present in the morning - soap and a sponge - and even a Christmas dinner (although I was on a pretty limited diet at the time).
The nurses, particularly, handled Christmas with the utmost kindness and sensitivity. Although I'm sure on the inside there's plenty of other places they'd rather have spent their Christmas day, each nurse made such an effort to be smiley, helpful and make the day special. They worked tirelessly to keep us all well cared for, even though staffing was a bit short. They made the best of what first seemed like the worst Christmas ever - and for that I'll always be grateful.
One New Year's Day, instead of spending time relaxing with her family, my amazing consultant surgeon spent her afternoon sat talking me through stoma and J-pouch surgery, letting me ask any questions I needed and explaining things over again if I didn't understand. At this point, it hadn't been confirmed that I'd need the operation - that only became clear at about 11pm that night when I had the massive bleed out that made surgery the only option. The next day when I needed rushing into theatre, my surgeon and her team were there, removing my colon and saving my life.
Afterwards, I was so ill that I was admitted to the High Dependency Unit, where I was provided with round-the-clock-care. For the first week and a half of January, I was moved to a surgical ward where I was cared for until I was discharged. There I was introduced to stoma nurses, who spent the start of their January teaching me how to care for myself and get my dignity back before I went home.
While our NHS may not be perfect, I cannot thank them enough for the way they handled Christmas 2013, and every treatment I've had since. I have nothing but praise for the way that my condition has been treated over the years. The NHS didn't just save my life in 2013, they also saved Christmas, for me and all my worried family and friends. Their professionalism, dedication and kindness made a horrible time bearable. If the NHS was struggling that winter, I just didn't see it. I will forever be impressed with the care I received that meant I saw it through to 2014.
This Christmas, too, I hope that through negative press and politicians' warnings, we can remember just how amazing our NHS really is - and give credit to the medical professionals and hospital staff who give up their festive period so that we might see another one.
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