I had to go to hospital today. Nothing serious – just a routine scan for an ongoing health problem. It was not very pleasant, but mercifully short and the results were good.

But this is not a story about my health. It’s a story about my health service – and yours, if you live in the UK. I’m talking about the National Health Service (NHS), founded in 1948 by Minister of Health Aneurin Bevan and his Labour Government, providing healthcare that was ‘free for all at the point of delivery’.

What a remarkable statement that is – free, high-quality healthcare, available to anyone who needs it. For my many readers in the US, you know only too well how crippling health problems can be if your healthcare is largely delivered by private, profit-making companies. Serious illness in the US and elsewhere can be financially catastrophic for those affected and their families.

Not here. Despite successive governments trying to destroy the NHS and sell it off to private healthcare companies (many of our Government Ministers are on the boards of these companies, while they are also major donors to the Conservative Party), it still provides a wonderful service. Years of underfunding, doctors, nurses and other frontline staff being woefully underpaid, chronic staff shortages, crumbling hospitals… Despite all of this, every single person who looked after me today was patient, kind and compassionate.

The procedure I endured this morning is called a gastroscopy – if you have been lucky enough not to need one, it’s hard to overestimate how unpleasant it is. They essentially stick a thick tube down your throat, inflate your stomach with air and do other less-than-fun things, to check that all is well in your digestive system.

As I lay there, in considerable discomfort, the all-female team constantly checked on me, reassured me, stroked my back through the worst moments. They were just so kind. And I am so grateful – thank you, thank you to those four lovely women, for taking such good care of me.

Not taking goodness for granted

As I left Whittington Hospital, mighty relieved that it was all over, at the entrance was a group of junior doctors, who are currently on strike. Why? Because their pay is insultingly low; they are burnt out and exhausted after two brutal years of Covid; morale in the health service is at an all-time low; and, adding insult to injury, the right-wing press and politicians demonise GPs and other doctors, blaming them for entirely political failings.

And they have had enough, as have I. Our doctors, nurses, paramedics, porters, physiotherapists, psychologists, cleaners, receptionists and all the other remarkable men and women who make up the NHS are heroes. They kept us all safe and well through the worst public-health crisis in living memory. Many of them gave their lives to protect ours.

They deserve our love and gratitude, not terrible pay and working conditions, or to be vilified in the media.

So thank you to everyone at the Whittington Hospital, who treated me with such kindness – and have done throughout my life. Thank you for keeping me and my family safe. Thank you for your dedication, your hard work, your selflessness.

Know that you are loved and appreciated – and that we never take your goodness for granted.

Warm wishes,

Dan