Had to take my 82y/o mother to the spanking new hospital in Pembury, and what I saw was unnerving to say the least. It's a mass oF concrete, entered via a VAST underground car park where spaces are so small you'd need to be driving a cigarette paper to fit in. Signage is non-existent - we found the lift almost by accident and after wandering down meandering, featureless corridors wide enough to take a bus. Then my son spotted a blu-tacked A4 sheet of paper with a crudely drawn arrow and we were saved.
On floor 0 - why not G, for ehaven's sake - is the hangar-like receiption with 'kiosks' where you have to scan the bar code on your appointment letter. The next challenge is to find a seat opposite massive TV screens. Within minutes, mum's name flashed up and directed her to Zone 1. You guessed it, no signs, no clue. Frantically we dashed around looking for someone to ask and finally got directions. Cue long corridors - curving this way and that, absolutely no natural light - and another mini-reception in Zone 1.
After the appointment it was a case of retracing our steps, exiting the basement lift straight into the path of cars coming into the underground lot. We flattened ourselves against the wall, waiting for this avalanche to pass before finding our car and beating the hastiest of retreats. Oh, and if you have a disabled badge, the sign warns you still have to pay. Peachy.
What a soulless and, for my mum, a rather exhausting/frightening experience. Is this how the mega-hospitals of the future will look? A cross between shopping mall and fall-out shelter? Gives me the shivers, it does.
On floor 0 - why not G, for ehaven's sake - is the hangar-like receiption with 'kiosks' where you have to scan the bar code on your appointment letter. The next challenge is to find a seat opposite massive TV screens. Within minutes, mum's name flashed up and directed her to Zone 1. You guessed it, no signs, no clue. Frantically we dashed around looking for someone to ask and finally got directions. Cue long corridors - curving this way and that, absolutely no natural light - and another mini-reception in Zone 1.
After the appointment it was a case of retracing our steps, exiting the basement lift straight into the path of cars coming into the underground lot. We flattened ourselves against the wall, waiting for this avalanche to pass before finding our car and beating the hastiest of retreats. Oh, and if you have a disabled badge, the sign warns you still have to pay. Peachy.
What a soulless and, for my mum, a rather exhausting/frightening experience. Is this how the mega-hospitals of the future will look? A cross between shopping mall and fall-out shelter? Gives me the shivers, it does.
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