I recently spent five days in a private hospital, where I had a routine operation. A few days later, for reasons with which I won't bore you, I was admitted to an NHS hospital, where I had another operation. This was hardly a randomised controlled trial, but it did make for some interesting comparisons.
In terms of creature comforts, the private hospital won hands down. My room had a plush carpet, an en suite bathroom, and a wide screen television with 24 channels (four of them in Arabic). I chose my meals from a leather bound menu (and, had I wanted to, I could have washed them down with champagne and smoked a cigar afterwards).
But otherwise, the differences were hard to spot. The beds were of identical make and model, with the same crisp white sheets (incidentally, mine were changed more often in the NHS). The nurses were all angels. The doctors were equally efficient, committed, and highly skilled. The operating theatres were equally spotless and well equipped; the anaesthetic rooms equally scary. I threw up approximately the same amount in each recovery room.
So apart from the frills, what was the big difference? I think it was this. In the private sector, no one entered my room without requesting my permission, and they did so in such a way (“Is it OK to empty your bin?”; “Is it convenient to take your blood pressure now?”) that I really believed I could turn them down.
In the NHS, where I was also in a room of my own, the door swung open six times an hour and staff breezed cheerily in and out as they collected equipment, checked my chart, or hunted down the senior house officer. The only person to knock on my door and wait for a reply before entering was my husband.
Nothing dreadful resulted (I was only caught unawares on a bedpan once), and if I had not just come from a hospital with a different culture I'm sure I wouldn't have noticed. But here's the lesson I learnt. Being a patient—especially a bed-bound one—does nothing for your self esteem. When people value your privacy, they make you feel valued as a person.
I didn't miss the telly, and I can handle drinking tea out of a cardboard cup. But a little respect for privacy—which, ironically, costs nothing—could put the NHS on a level footing with Harley Street.