Medical Negligence.
By Pete Winfield. ex 3rd Inf. Div.I was
stationed at H.Q. 3rd Inf. Div. at North Camp Moascar and my title at
the time was 22800986 Driver Winfield, Transport Platoon. I arrived
in the Canal Zone late November 1952 and the events that I write about
took place about May 1953. I remember receiving a cigarette case for
my birthday and having it stolen from under my
pillow as I slept. I must have had it for almost a whole day. It was about this time that my story began.
It was Sunday and I felt unwell with severe stomach pains and I remember thinking that I would have to report sick on Monday. It was with difficulty that I trudged across
to the stores with my mattress and bedding to hand them in, then another trip with my kit-bag. Everything had to be handed in with the exception of the small-pack containing eating irons and washing gear. After morning parade I made my way to the Signals Camp, about a mile down the road, where the only M.O. for miles around held his surgery. After a long wait it was my turn and when asked what was wrong I told him that I was in a lot of pain in the stomach area and I would like to go to
hospital. He then told me that it was just a case of Egyptian Tummy, then gave me twenty white tablets and sent me on my way. I then asked if I could be
excused duties for the day, only to be told that a bit of hard work would do me good. I trudged back up the road to camp in agony with every step. On arrival at camp I
then had to retrieve my bedding and kit-bag from the stores. I was so ill that I made my bed and lay down. Someone went and told the sergeant about me and he came
to demand that I return to my duties. I said that I was sorry, but that was an order that I couldn't possibly comply with because of the extreme pain that I was suffering.
He then grudgingly admitted that I did look poorly, and gave me the rest of the day off, with instructions to two of my mates to keep an eye on me. I made frequent trips
to the latrines thinking that I needed to go but all I could manage was about a teaspoonful at a time.
The next day, Tuesday, I waited until parade was over and then reported special sick. This meant that I didn't have to hand my bedding and kit-bag into the stores. I
asked for transport, which was refused and so made the painful journey down the road to the sick room. I was greeted with derision when I asked to be sent to hospital,
at which I informed him that I paid a National Insurance stamp and was entitled to treatment. I went outside the camp and thumbed a lift into Moascar where I presented myself to the married family’s hospital. The doctor on duty examined my stomach and I shouted out when he released the pressure on my abdomen. At that point everything started to happen. Without wasting another minute I was in an ambulance with bells ringing the twenty-five miles to Fayid BMH. The attendant in the
ambulance had to keep a constant pressure on my stomach because the potholes made for a very uncomfortable ride, and any jolts caused extreme pain. The last thing that I remember was the indignity of having the area around my private bits shaved with a rusty cut-throat razor.
I was unconscious for about six weeks (or so I was told), kept heavily sedated and with the incision in my stomach kept open so that the nurses could mop up all the
puss that was seeping from the wound. I was aware that at some point I thought that a trip to the toilet was called for and tried to get there dragging a whole lot of bottles and equipment behind me. As I made progress I was allowed an ice cube once a day at Tiffin time. No food, just an ice cube. I was being kept alive with alternate bottles
of saline and glucose. One day I was woken by a group of people around my bed. It was the surgeon and his team and to my dying day I will remember what he told me. The first words I heard as I awoke were "young man, you should have been dead" to which I replied that I hadn't heard the order. I was shown the appendix that they removed. It was bloated to the size of a small apple and was kept in a two pound jam jar. I was so ill at the time that back home the police were sent round to my
parents house to warn of my imminent death and the offer from the army of a free flight out to Egypt to be with me when I passed away. My parents declined the offer because, who in their right minds would want to fly in a world war two bomber to a hell hole like Egypt. They had been warned that it would probably be too late to see
me alive anyway. I was visited by the padre from my camp to see if there was anything that I needed, I was quick to reply, "yes, a cushy posting and for action to be
taken against the bastard who nearly killed me". After six weeks in the convalescent depot at Deversoir I was transferred to The Padres Pool and became the driver to
the padre in charge of "The Army Christian Leadership Training Centre" on the shores of Lake Timsah.
I do hope that some memories are stirred by my account and I look forward to hearing from some old mates. That’s about all that I can think of just now except that I
will never forget my first meal when allowed to eat again. It was boiled chicken followed by a dish of jelly and blancmange. The other chaps in the ward wanted to know
why I was getting special treatment, but I was too busy eating to answer.....
Pete Winfield.
© Britain's Small Wars Website. March 2008.
pillow as I slept. I must have had it for almost a whole day. It was about this time that my story began.
It was Sunday and I felt unwell with severe stomach pains and I remember thinking that I would have to report sick on Monday. It was with difficulty that I trudged across
to the stores with my mattress and bedding to hand them in, then another trip with my kit-bag. Everything had to be handed in with the exception of the small-pack containing eating irons and washing gear. After morning parade I made my way to the Signals Camp, about a mile down the road, where the only M.O. for miles around held his surgery. After a long wait it was my turn and when asked what was wrong I told him that I was in a lot of pain in the stomach area and I would like to go to
hospital. He then told me that it was just a case of Egyptian Tummy, then gave me twenty white tablets and sent me on my way. I then asked if I could be
excused duties for the day, only to be told that a bit of hard work would do me good. I trudged back up the road to camp in agony with every step. On arrival at camp I
then had to retrieve my bedding and kit-bag from the stores. I was so ill that I made my bed and lay down. Someone went and told the sergeant about me and he came
to demand that I return to my duties. I said that I was sorry, but that was an order that I couldn't possibly comply with because of the extreme pain that I was suffering.
He then grudgingly admitted that I did look poorly, and gave me the rest of the day off, with instructions to two of my mates to keep an eye on me. I made frequent trips
to the latrines thinking that I needed to go but all I could manage was about a teaspoonful at a time.
The next day, Tuesday, I waited until parade was over and then reported special sick. This meant that I didn't have to hand my bedding and kit-bag into the stores. I
asked for transport, which was refused and so made the painful journey down the road to the sick room. I was greeted with derision when I asked to be sent to hospital,
at which I informed him that I paid a National Insurance stamp and was entitled to treatment. I went outside the camp and thumbed a lift into Moascar where I presented myself to the married family’s hospital. The doctor on duty examined my stomach and I shouted out when he released the pressure on my abdomen. At that point everything started to happen. Without wasting another minute I was in an ambulance with bells ringing the twenty-five miles to Fayid BMH. The attendant in the
ambulance had to keep a constant pressure on my stomach because the potholes made for a very uncomfortable ride, and any jolts caused extreme pain. The last thing that I remember was the indignity of having the area around my private bits shaved with a rusty cut-throat razor.
I was unconscious for about six weeks (or so I was told), kept heavily sedated and with the incision in my stomach kept open so that the nurses could mop up all the
puss that was seeping from the wound. I was aware that at some point I thought that a trip to the toilet was called for and tried to get there dragging a whole lot of bottles and equipment behind me. As I made progress I was allowed an ice cube once a day at Tiffin time. No food, just an ice cube. I was being kept alive with alternate bottles
of saline and glucose. One day I was woken by a group of people around my bed. It was the surgeon and his team and to my dying day I will remember what he told me. The first words I heard as I awoke were "young man, you should have been dead" to which I replied that I hadn't heard the order. I was shown the appendix that they removed. It was bloated to the size of a small apple and was kept in a two pound jam jar. I was so ill at the time that back home the police were sent round to my
parents house to warn of my imminent death and the offer from the army of a free flight out to Egypt to be with me when I passed away. My parents declined the offer because, who in their right minds would want to fly in a world war two bomber to a hell hole like Egypt. They had been warned that it would probably be too late to see
me alive anyway. I was visited by the padre from my camp to see if there was anything that I needed, I was quick to reply, "yes, a cushy posting and for action to be
taken against the bastard who nearly killed me". After six weeks in the convalescent depot at Deversoir I was transferred to The Padres Pool and became the driver to
the padre in charge of "The Army Christian Leadership Training Centre" on the shores of Lake Timsah.
I do hope that some memories are stirred by my account and I look forward to hearing from some old mates. That’s about all that I can think of just now except that I
will never forget my first meal when allowed to eat again. It was boiled chicken followed by a dish of jelly and blancmange. The other chaps in the ward wanted to know
why I was getting special treatment, but I was too busy eating to answer.....
Pete Winfield.
© Britain's Small Wars Website. March 2008.
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