My DAT scan

D.A.T is a scanning method that helps differentiate between Parkinson’s disease and Essential Tremor. My doctor in his wisdom decided that I should partake of one of these scans and after some preliminary investigations by a neurologist; I was offered an appointment in Hammersmith Hospital. That’s when all the problems began.

Hammersmith is particularly difficult to reach by public transport, especially if you’re a bit unsteady on your legs like me. So I tried to arrange transport to and from hospital. All went well, the form was sent from my G.P. to Hammersmith and a reply acknowledging receipt returned by fax. I could relax, all had now been arranged

The day before my appointment I decided to check with Hammersmith to make sure I would have a car sent for me the next day. They’d never even heard of me! Now Hammersmith is one of a trilogy of hospitals covered by the same administration departments, Queen Charlotte’s and Charing Cross hospitals are the other two. I spent slightly over three hours on the phone, increasingly nervously trawling through all the departments trying to discover what had gone wrong.

Eventually I got through to the transport department where the gentleman in charge told me I could only be brought to the hospital providing I could give him my hospital number. After some time I found a number ending in the letter X in a box marked ‘hospital number’ on one of my forms. Back to transport, where I was told that was the wrong sort of number. If I was to go to Hammersmith for treatment I should have a suffix H on my form. “Sorry mate can’t help!”

Panic now followed. The blindingly obvious then struck me and I contacted my G.P. to send another copy of my form for appraisal. By now I had a list of phone numbers for practically every department in the hospital concerned with my problem. I got through to the people dealing with the faxes sent to them. The girl dealing with my case was out for a break but would be back in ten minutes. Half an hour later I rang again, this time I was told that they’d never heard from me. Very politely I asked the gentleman to have a look at that morning’s in tray whereupon ‘surprise surprise!,’ he said that the form had been sent to Assessment half an hour ago.

Guess what? I rang assessment and spoke to the lady saying that my request had just been sent. This particular lady was the only one at all constructive in my previous dealings earlier that morning. Maggie thought that the form she’d just got requesting transport to Surbiton must have come from me. But she couldn’t process it because ‘THERE WAS NO HOSPITAL NUMBER ON IT!’

She went on to explain that as there were only two members of staff in Assessment, they had to disregard any form without the number because it took so long to obtain said number from patients names and addresses.

Fortunately because I was such a nice gentleman, she had done just that for me and was prepared to assess me anyway.

RESULT!

Five minutes later I was promised a car for 8-30 the next day. By now I was literally a quivering wreck and collapsed in a heap into my chair.

The next morning I made sure I was ready to go half an hour before time. The mini ambulance complete with yellow and green stripes turned up at 9-45. Oh good! 45 minutes to Hammersmith in the rush hour?

The driver was Jamaican I think, and I’m sure he thought he was Lewis Hamilton! Mobile phone glued to his ear half the time, and using a menthol cigarette the rest, he was weaving in and out of traffic, using the bus lanes where apparently these vehicles are allowed. To give him his due he certainly knew his way around all the back streets to avoid the traffic. I was lost as soon as we left Richmond.

Then we shot off up a narrow side street and kept turning down narrow alley ways until I started to worry about being mugged by one of his friends who might be waiting. Fortunately we were only picking up another passenger. Surprisingly enough we duly arrived at the hospital at 10-30, right on time.

Off to the Department of Nuclear Medicine, have a radioactive injection then sit down to wait for 4 hours. Some other long term patients arrived and I got chatting to one chap who was a microlite aircraft flying instructor. One of those hang glider jobs with a small engine behind the pilot. One of the stories he told me may be of interest. He was practicing take off and landings with a pupil when he noticed a police helicopter flying beside him. It turned out the old disused airfield he’d always used for practice had just been taken over by the police.

At last it was scan time. Lie perfectly still on your back for 35 minutes, head strapped to a firm pillow to stop any movement, with a camera moving round your head within about an inch of your face.

Its amazing how as soon as you have to lie still every part of your head starts to itch. But soon it was all over and now all I had to do was get home.

Back to reception to ask for a driver to take me home. “Sorry we don’t know anything about you, what’s your hospital number?” Eventually a Staff nurse came up to see what was going on and told me to go to Transport.

Once in the correct department I was told that I would be going home within the hour. Sure enough I was on the road with two other passengers, only an hour and a half later. GOING TO CHARING CROSS HOSPITAL!

We had to pick up a lady being returned to East Grinstead. The two already on board were going to Brighton.

Then it was all change, as the lady we picked up must have weighed well over 20 stone and could only just get into the front seat, so I had to squeeze in with a lady and her daughter at the back. I had a much more sedate ride without Lewis Hamilton driving, but it took one hour and 45 minutes. Admittedly the detour to Charing Cross didn’t help even though we could use the bus lanes. We also had to compete with a lot of much heavier rush hour traffic in the dark.

I eventually got home at a quarter to seven. I still don’t know my hospital number!

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