Anita wrote to us, prefacing her piece thus: “My husband Ian Jacques wrote a few letters – mostly with a great deal of wit – and West Country Voices kindly published a few. Unfortunately, he passed away, aged 74, on January 3 2026, after a short illness. By way of an obituary, I wonder if you would consider publishing an article that I have written as his spouse and also a working GP. It is a commentary on the truly abysmal care that he received in hospital and the fact that our contribution to decisions was actively not sought or simply ignored. It is a reflection of the dire straits that the NHS is in and how the UK is becoming quite a scary place when it comes to healthcare. His case is now referred for an inquest, and I hope that he will make the difference in his death that he did not make while he was alive in NHS ‘care.’“
What follows is her account, unedited.
Be afraid, be very afraid….
There was a time when I found myself miles away from where I thought I was on a strange road that just suddenly became recognisable. It had been a long day as a GP, and I was driving home after a home visit. I had no explanation about what I had just experienced. I often wonder whether perhaps I had died at some point during that time and now I am in ‘Hell’ .
The NHS has been my only employer for the last 38 years and I have been its staunch defender. I have tried really hard to give it my all. I have often told my patients that when it came to cancer care that the NHS was preferable to any private option, unless, of course, you were a Royal and could go to King Edward VII hospital in London. I have been eating my words, letter by letter for the last 4 weeks while I live through a nightmare from which I cannot wake.
Every element of care for my husband, Ian, of nearly 40 years was left wanting, but the main form of torment was his level of pain and the lack of responsiveness to this that he experienced. As a spouse it’s hard, but as a clinician as well, who is absolutely powerless, it’s like a form of slow torture. It is horrifying to me that I would prefer for him to have died acutely rather than go through any more.
Ian was admitted acutely with a very swollen and painful left leg to our local hospital. After a few days and some scans, he was referred to a specialist centre, outpatient appointment two hours away. I had to drive him up myself, immobile and with him wincing over every bump in the road. He was admitted on that day as the surgeon had not looked at his scans and had no plan as such. She asked at one point ‘why are you here?’, prompting me to wonder if she had actually spoken to the referring team. She reluctantly admitted him with a comment, ‘why did you allow them (the referring hospital) to send him here?’
As he was quite immobile, wracked with pain and looking quite pale, there was a promise at this time that he would have input to build him up, dieticians etc and oncology and palliative care for his pain but very little happened for 10 days.
He was totally at the mercy of whoever happened to be working in the ward that day, a new team every 12 hours who seemed not to know anything about him. He felt like an unwanted, inconvenient guest. Some of the health care assistants just ignored him and left him like a ‘beached whale’ with his things just out of reach, others moved him impatiently and caused him huge amounts of pain that tended to linger like an asphyxiating smell. If he asked for more painkillers, rather than escalating to the doctors, he would be frequently told by the nurses that there was no more that was written up to give. His medication seemed to be at homeopathic levels, some of which was only prescribed after I spoke to the doctors and explained both my distress and his, and how he had endured 2 weeks of pain. In the first week he was popping his own pills on the ward from a supply he went in with; they soon stopped working and ran out, necessitating him asking the nurses. It was often an hour before they returned.
His main painkiller was prescribed every 6 hours but on occasions he would get it an hour early and then the next dosing would be an hour late so he was 8 hours without pain relief, usually overnight, most of which he would be in pain and without sleep. This latter arrangement was purely for the convenience of the staff. The following day he would be tearful and despondent. Influenced heavily by his lack of sleep. He would phone me, crying in pain. I had to call the ward from home 2 hours away to alert someone to his pain.
I tried to speak to the specialist nurse whom we met the first day and who had shown some sympathy during the initial outpatient appointment and in most hospitals are made available for patients to liaise with. No- one knew who she was and I couldn’t remember her name. I was frustrated and distressed, all fuelled by my distance away and not insignificantly by having to listen to the 2-minute lecture at the start of each call to the hospital about what you could and couldn’t do as a patient or visitor. I was put through to various random numbers, many of which just rang out or went to voicemail.
As a result of my multiple distressed calls, some of which resulted in a rather tense exchange with an admin person who was very unhelpful, the consultant then threatened my husband, a dying man, wracked with pain, with his discharge if his wife continued to be uppity. She did this on a ward round surrounded by her entourage. My husband was no longer a retired CEO, a respectable member of society who had run companies and was highly thought of. He was humiliated, emasculated and rendered completely powerless to have any influence on his fate. He remained like this, gradually. ballooning below the waist until he could barely move.
No one addressed his immobility. He saw a physio twice, the first time 4 weeks after his admission. When I suggested to him that I should speak to the doctors, he said ‘no don’t do that, I don’t want them to think I am a troublemaker as they will take it out on me!’
They finally took him for his 6-hour operation, 3 weeks after admission after two cancellations, cutting away in both groins but on the worst side they could not do much and informed us this was ‘bad news’, but perhaps chemotherapy would be considered next.
The shining light was the anaesthetist who phoned me before and after the operation and rendered him pain-free with a spinal anaesthetic and patient-controlled analgesia for 24 hours. He lay on the same sheets in the same gown, without a wash for 3 days, tubes in almost every orifice, but the pain came back and kept him awake for hours overnight, alone with his thoughts. How devastated he was to let his family down, to be leaving his beautiful children of just 11 and 16 behind in a world that now is very scary. At 4 weeks he was briefly reviewed by an oncology nurse and yet still nothing happened, no plan was in place, no discussion. It was almost as if ignoring us was their way of allowing us to realise that they didn’t feel there was anything to offer. . He was eventually discharged to a hospice for further end of life care, 7 weeks post admission.
To rub salt into our wounds, the NHS could not even ensure the safe delivery of chocolates and a card sent by relatives. They delivered tea to soldiers on the frontline in the Second World War, but they cannot be bothered to forward home comforts and wishes in someone’s hour of need.
I write this letter to warn you all that every being in the UK is at the mercy of the NHS to be treated or not treated according to somebody’s will. Every being is at risk on a daily basis of succumbing to illness that renders them powerless and subject to humiliation and despair. At this point we have no choice at all but to accept the only care that is available. Care that is not patient-focused or holistic, care that doesn’t listen to patients or relatives and care in which empathy has been eroded.
Yours faithfully
Anita Sandison
GP
Southwest
We were extremely sad to hear this tragic news and to read Anita’s distressing account of poor Ian’s last weeks. Our deepest sympathies lie with Anita and her children. We await the inquest outcome with interest and concern.
Ian contributed brilliant letters and articles right from the start of West Country Voices’ existence. You can follow the links below to read them. Oldest first.