Thousands turn out for "Save Lewisham A&E" hospital march

. . . and the Jeremy Hunt coconut shy went down a storm.

 

Yesterday Lewisham town centre was brought to a standstill as thousands of people took to its streets. They were voicing their their anger at proposals to close the A&E unit at Lewisham Hospital, and to downgrade the maternity service.  

The proposals come after the South London Health Care Trust ran up huge debts following an expensive PFI Initiative - as detailed in Rowenna Davis's New Statesman piece. However, that trust has nothing to do with the running of Lewisham Hospital - and there was clear anger among demonstrators that their local services were being cut in order to pay back a debt not of their making.

A local organisation, Lewisham People Before Profit, handed out song sheets with alternative Dad’s Army theme tune:

Who do you think you are kidding Mr Kershaw/ Our hospital is here to stay / We are the ones who will stop your little game / We are the ones who will make you think again / Cos we can find the money Mr Kershaw  / If we make the bankers pay.

Matthew Kershaw is the special administrator appointed by Andrew Lansley to tackle the financial problems of the South London Health Care Trust. It was his proposal to shut the A&E Department (only months after it reopened following a refit) and that the patients should be moved to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Woolwich to save money.

On the march, Brighton-based artist and educator Bern O’Donoghue said: “Both my children were born in the hospital, and we’ve used the A&E loads of times. We wouldn’t have coped if we’d have had to go six miles to Woolwich. It’s a ludicrous plan and one which will have a hugely damaging impact on the community.”

Many children on the demo were in buggies with ‘Born in Lewisham Hospital’ signs attached. I saw a mother marching with her children, carrying a placard saying “We’re here thanks to Lewisham A&E”.

Strikingly, the demo seemed to have brought together an incredibly diverse range of groups and organisations all united in opposition to the plans. I saw banners from various union branches and political groups, but there was also support from Millwall Football Club, who had even moved the date of a match so that their supporters could attend the demo. A local group called Islamic Awareness also displayed a Save Our NHS placard on their stall outside Lewisham Library as the demo passed by.  Even car drivers caught up in the march and unable to move were supportive, tooting their horns and cheering the marchers.

As the march passed by Lewisham Hospital itself, its staff - still in their medical uniforms - came out to applaud the demo, and were cheered in return.

At the final rallying point in Mountsfield Park, the atmosphere was positively charged as the crowds arrived and people began to appreciate the sheer scale of the march. 

And for those with frustrations left to vent, the Jeremy Hunt Coconut Shy was open, and doing a roaring trade. 

You can follow @Brixtonite on Twitter. 

A sign in a Lewisham window. Photo by @Brixtonite
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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear