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Proud of the NHS

I spent the weekend in St Michael\’s hospital, a small cottage hospital in Hayle, Cornwall, and I\’m now going to have a bit of a boast about just how good the much-criticised tax-funded British National Health Service can be.
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There they cut a slit in my arm, bolted a metal plate to my broken ulna and then sewed it up again with an even bigger, heavier back slab cast over my elbow. I also reacted quite badly to my painkilling medication and spent yesterday evening lying flat on my back so I wouldn\’t be sick again, with an anti-emetic and a saline drip to rehydrate me.
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And it was a delightful experience. Really it was. The whole place had a calm airy feel to it and was spotlessly, shiningly clean. And the staff were just wonderful from start to finish. Not just highly competent, conscientious and on the ball. Of course, they\’re paid to do a job of caring for their patients and \”care\” is a word so over-used nowadays, it seems to be too exhausted to mean anything.
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But the doctors and nurses at St Michael\’s picked the word \”care\” up, dusted it down and set it on its feet again as the English for the old Latin word \”caritas\” meaning compassionate love.
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Did I need to take my credit card out? No. It cost me nothing.

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