Disclaimer

This blog reflects personal views from an Upper GI clinician and parent, written while mildly hypoxic, heavily congested, and fuelled by Lemsip. No patients were harmed, no discharge summaries were intentionally delayed, and any opinions expressed are my own — not those of the Trust, the NHS, the LTA, or whoever currently has my mobile number.

Monday arrived in the usual understated way it does after a weekend on-call: quietly, firmly, and with the hospital already absolutely rammed.

It’s that time of year again when hospitals across the land engage in the delicate art of bed Tetris. Patients need to be discharged to make space for the incoming ones, and elective surgery starts hovering nervously near the metaphorical “No more room at the inn” sign. I don’t think Upper GI surgery was cancelled this week — but if it wasn’t, it was probably only by a whisker and a strongly worded bed meeting.

As if acutely unwell patients weren’t enough, the seasonal sickness bug decided it also wanted a rota slot. The Upper GI team was its latest victim. To add to the fun, I also discovered this week just how many managers within the Trust actually have my mobile number. Judging by the volume of calls, it appears to be most of them. Several rang to enquire — entirely reasonably — about the whereabouts of various discharge papers. Nothing quite drives home your perceived value like being chased for paperwork while actively coughing up something that probably shouldn’t be green.

I’d been struggling with my breathing since last week and by the last couple of days I was officially running on fumes.

Yesterday was my usual day off, which I optimistically imagined might involve productivity. Instead, I achieved the bare minimum: school drop-off, school pick-up, and getting our son to tennis. That was it. No chores. No life admin.

Even my wife — normally a beacon of calm — looked at me and declared, “You look like death.”

Always good to get objective feedback.

So this morning, with my nose running like an unchecked tap and green phlegm making regular guest appearances, I finally waved the white flag and called in sick. Lemsip has been the beverage of choice for the last few days, largely because it feels vaguely medicinal and requires no chewing.

Then — plot twist.

An email arrived telling us that our son has made the U9 County Cup team this year. Naturally, we’re delighted. This is absolutely not a given with the current crop of players, and if I’m being brutally honest, factoring in the mental side of his game, I wouldn’t have been shocked if it hadn’t gone his way. But there it was, in black and white. A small but very welcome win.

The County Cup is being held in Taunton at the beginning of March, which means it’s probably time to quietly increase the number of training sessions and pretend this was all part of a long-term masterplan.

Interestingly, before that email arrived, another one landed — this time from Somerset LTA — asking for feedback on how things are going, what’s working well, and what isn’t. I was reassured to see a free-text box. I had… thoughts.

To be clear, the county is doing a tremendous job getting kids into tennis. Tim Seymour’s Dragon Tour alone has been hugely important, especially given how large and rural Somerset actually is. That outreach matters, and it shows.

The downside? County training currently feels like just another session on top of the two we already do each week. From what I can gather, nothing substantially different is being offered. The top 6–8 boys are training alongside the rest of the group, which — developmentally — doesn’t feel ideal. In my completely unqualified parental opinion, there should be at least two groups: one for the top boys focusing on higher-level drills and specificity, and another for those who aren’t quite there yet, with different learning objectives.

One size rarely fits all in development.

This is, of course, focused on the boys. From what I can gather, the Somerset girls’ team currently consists of just four players — a different challenge entirely.

Finally, I think the boys need to train together more often as a unit. Whether that’s feasible given geography, diaries, and the general chaos of modern family life is another matter entirely.

All of this said, I’m very aware I’m speaking purely as a parent. I have no tennis coaching qualifications, and organising children is genuinely hard. I get that. When I was growing up in Plettenberg and coaching chess juniors, it was an absolute nightmare — herding cats, but with clocks.

I’m certainly not pretending there are easy answers. I just hope I’m not the only one seeing these issues, and that other parents are quietly typing similar comments into that same free-text box.

For now, I’ll return to my Lemsip, my tissues, and the comforting knowledge that at least one thing went right this week — even if my phone continues to ring asking about discharge summaries while I’m off sick.