I read a story yesterday which chilled me more profoundly than liquid nitrogen does a Heston Blumenthal pea mousse. Apparently, next to many hospital beds there is now a television monitor. The monitor carries a personal message from you to me; to everyone. Your face will appear next to me, at my most vulnerable, and say:
“Hello, I’m Andrew Lansley, the health secretary. I just want to take a few moments to say that your care while you’re here in hospital really matters to me. I hope it’s as good quality care as we can possibly make it and I do hope you’ll join me in thanking all the staff who are looking after you while you’re here.“
This message will repeat on a loop every three to four minutes.
And so, with my faculties intact, I make my request to you; my living will: If you will not allow me to be sick in peace and dignity, at least let me go. I don’t want to be a burden on the taxpayer anyway, which is increasingly how you make sick people feel. And while you’re at it, you may as well harvest my organs and help your deficit reduction policy by auctioning them to the highest bidder. I mean, of course, to “any willing provider”.
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