The footies on. Somewhere. Everywhere, it’s so damn quiet. Home alone with Bess. Listening to music. Head spinning from so much happening and not happening. LB’s five year death anniversary speedily approaching. The day before NHS 70th birthday celebrations. I feel queasy already. Hunt and NHS England remain silent about the leder review. Bouncing back FOI requests as too expensive. Refusing to comment.
An extraordinary level of engineered wilful disinterest.
I put in a Subject Access Request a month ago asking to see Valerie Murphy’s statement for the MPTS hearing. She read my statement. Her barrister commented on it during his illness inducing cross-examination.
The answer came back today:
“I do not believe there is information that is disclosable under the DPA”. Oh. The GMC will however disclose extracts relating to LB if I sign a confidentiality agreement.
Murphy had no such restrictions. She can say whatever she wants about my statement. To whoever she chooses.
And so it continues..
A week ago a bizarre comment was posted on justiceforLB.org:
Spencer and Murphy studied at the same university at the same time.
We know snarky (or worse) and largely unchallenged discussions go on behind the password protected doctors.net (and I’m sure other forums). These started within weeks of LB’s death. Mother (and other) blame has had a remarkably unremitting purchase in health, social care, education circles for decades now. Noted and discussed at length by families. A steely silence (apart from the odd dissenter) from professionals who must recognise this shite for what it is.
These random, unexpected and typically incoherent attacks are pretty hard to endure. Our boy died. He died. You just don’t seem to understand this. He was 18. Can you imagine your child dying a preventable death in the ‘care’ of the NHS?
A beloved and beautiful child. Dying. A preventable death.
Can you begin to imagine?
Why don’t you fucking try to imagine?