Where shall I start?First of all, the rating: there should be negative stars, so that I couldtruthfully and happily attribute NewCross Hospital in Wolverhampton a -5 (minus five!) rating.Of all the departments I have had the misfortune to need tovisit as an outpatient, the only one I have anything good to say about isRheumatology. There, the staff, from clerical to nurses to registrars toconsultants, have always been impeccable, extremely professional, engaged,friendly and polite. In my experience, they have also been quite competent.I have also had an overall positive experience in theimaging department, where both cenographers I got to see repeatedly are lovelywomen, friendly and polite and competent.Otherwise, my experience of New Cross Hospital has beenextremely frustrating and unpleasant. Do avoid Gynaecology at all costs.Heavens forbid you want a second opinion on the arrogant and disinterested attitude of who seems to be the mainconsultant you are simply ignored. Ten months on and two GP letters, I amstill waiting. Complaints procedure? 'Talk it over with the consultant inquestion'. I'm not happy with this consultant and the appointment, so can I seeanother consultant? 'Talk it over with the consultant in question'. As for Gastroenterology, I am still waiting for a scan I wastold I needed more or less urgently since August of last year. Again, therehas been no reply to my calls, or to my GP's letters. Maybe this is what passesfor admissible and adequate health care, these days.Heavens forbid too you have an allergic reaction to anything, or aresuspected of being having a heart attack and are taken to A&E. In the firstcase, my allergy to mushrooms was dismissed as improbable and unheard of and,therefore, most possibly a phantasy; and I was sent home with the recommendationto drink plenty of water and take cetirizine, and to two days and nights ofatrocious abdominal pain and vomiting and diarrhoea. An intravenous antihistamine wouldhave spared me all the suffering, and I wouldn't have had to stick my fingers down my throatto expel all of the offending mushroom I had inadvertently ingested. Since I sufferfrom an auto-immune illness, this little encounter ended up causing me quite a severeflare up of my condition, and further weeks of suffering.If you are suspected of being in the midst of a heart attackor a severe angina attack, then you most likely will get a line inserted onyour hand (and the line connected to nothing at all), get shoved in a cubicle with ill-fitting curtains, and thenfor the following five hours just sitthere with your bewildered husband while you first listen to the so-called 'assistance' being given to an attempted suicide (poor, cold, mean, callous, ineffective,offensive to me and to my husband, who were just listening helpless on theother side of the curtain) followed by a super quick dismissal (without even apsychiatrist being called for assessment); and then, later that same night, having been discharged from A&E to another cubicle with bad curtains on another floor (so that government targets can be met), watch a flurry of nurses soakedhead to toe in blood scurry about, shout for more blood, shout for porters, shout for cleaners, shout for and at each other, and every now and then just gather by the door and exchange commentson how the man has so many stab wounds, how they're putting the blood in at one end andit keeps squirting out his many holes at the other end, how the assistants can't keepup with mopping it up and how the floor is like one huge puddle 'in there' andyou could swim in it and he's got a big gash here and another there and onenurse counted 27 stab wounds and and and, and how they keep pumping blood in and it just squirts out and goes everywhere even the ceiling and how many litres they had already wasted and how they keepthumping at his chest and shocking him and And I, unable to cope any further, pointed out that thestress was actually making me worse, and asked to please be sent home. Afteranother hour of the same and without receiving any treatment or assistance none whatsoever , and faced with the refusal of the junior(student?) doctor totake the line off and discharge me, Itook the line from my hand myself, and inched my way out with my husband'shelp. My reasoning was that, if I were indeed having a heart attack, I coulddie anyway, and in that case I'd rather do it at home, in a tranquil anddignified way, with the cats purring instead of the shrill and excited voicesof nurses and help staff, seemingly delighting in the most horrible and gorydetails of a man's slow and certain death. I know this man did die the cleanerswere gossiping about it just before I ripped the line off my hand. In the end, we opted for seeking assistance and/or treatment at either Stafford and or Cannock hospitals and the health care I received at either of these hospitals was always, unfalteringly, of the best quality. Unfortunately, these were also the two hospitals in the read more