We managed to survive from 2004 to 2011 and to provide a reasonably good service for our patients.
One reason was the generosity of the patients themselves. The Patients’ Participation Group (PPG) raised funds for equipment which allowed us to provide a wide range of services to our patients (and its long-time leader, Ian Gillard, excelled at this). The equipment purchased with the proceeds saved our patients the trouble of having to travel out of town (or pay through the nose) for services such as spirometry or minor surgery/cryotherapy. This ‘symbiosis’ created a good atmosphere in that we felt that we were all on the same side and working towards the same goals.
That is not to say that the patients were happy that they were clearly being discriminated against by the NHS. In 2011 the anger peaked and so it was agreed that we would hold some sort of demonstration. Ideas were bandied about. The centerpiece would be a coffin to symbolise the imminent ‘death’ of the surgery if funding was not improved. This was not as melodramatic as it sounds in that we were always just a heartbeat away from closure given that, if I’d keeled over, the practice would have been instantly closed because no other GP would be mad enough to attempt to run it with the same financial package. So – where could we get a coffin? Paul King kindly obliged. Patients were tasked with creating placards and a lot of these were quite imaginative. A friendly estate agent gave us some boards and poles to use as the framework for the placards. I was tasked with finding some ‘down-and-out’s’ clothing – something which gave a nod to Charlie Chaplin’s tramp – for me to wear in order to illustrate the fact that we were down on our uppers. You’d think that would be easy … but it wasn’t so I ended up wearing some sort of medieval peasant’s ragged outfit which merely made me look daft but, nevertheless, blended in with the joyous atmosphere on the day.
Dr John Cormack down on his uppers!
The ‘demo’ went well. We were blessed with wall-to-wall sunshine and there was an excellent turnout. There were speeches and a procession in which the coffin was ceremoniously carried round the adjacent car park. A TV crew turned up on the day and recorded a report – and we got plenty of press coverage.
That done we set off to the PCT offices in Springfield to deliver a copy of a petition signed by thousands of our patients. From there the core contingent went on to the Houses of Parliament for a ‘photo opportunity’ – by which time I’d been provided with a more suitable outfit. Finally, Tricia Hughes and I delivered a copy of the patient’s petition to No 10 Downing Street. We returned home, tired but happy, with just enough energy to examine an abundance of photographs of the event.
The PCT, needless to say, stuck to its claim that we were being treated perfectly fairly – and placards showing the Mid Essex PCT with a Pinocchio nose demonstrated what we all thought of that! In one of the press reports the PCT went further: “We have in the past funded an independent practice manager to support the practice in completing a business review to make sure that the practice is receiving the correct reimbursement for all its services.” Unfortunately (for the PCT) she turned out to be honest and principled – so the plan backfired. We’ll publish details of the manager’s findings in next week’s issue.
As well as all the time and effort that went into this sort of activity we, of course, had to carry on with the day job to the best of our ability. Doctors were, by and large, unaffordable on our budget but (as I never tire of saying) we had built up a fantastic team of nurses and so, by this time, the practice had become, to all intents and purposes, nurse led. This idea was way ahead of its time – so much so that our initiative was publicised in an American Nursing Journal.
From time to time I recorded a ‘video diary’ as a reminder of the events that took place at around that time as, without it, even I would have difficulty believing what went on. Here’s a short recording of my wife, Sue, who was there from the moment we set up the practice until the day we both retired in 2019. She juggled two jobs being, simultaneously, the kingpin of the practice and (in our eyes) the world’s best Mum. In recognition of this, when the surgery in Tyler’s Tide was constructed, I insisted that a stone in her honour should be incorporated into the brickwork that was part of the reception area. The engraved inscription stated that, without her, this building would never have been built. Unfortunately it looked somewhat funereal – it had the appearance of a memorial, the sort of thing you’d see in a graveyard – so it didn’t have the desired effect. Patients were constantly saying: “Oh, I’m so sorry to see that your wife has passed on!” This happened so often that, eventually, we had to cover it with a poster. Never mind – the thought was there.
Dr John Cormack