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'I want you to go into Ashenden Hospital now for a second opinion' you said. 'Lisa Ward mentioned there was an outside chance of appendicitis when I spoke to her yesterday, and all the signs are there.'

He was in too much pain yesterday for gastroenteritis, I thought, but I said "I'm relieved - at least we didn't call you out for no good reason." An odd way to look at it, I thought again, but that's the way I've been conditioned to respond.

'I'll write you a letter now. Shall I put in that you have private insurance - you should get a consultant operating?'

'Thanks', I said. But don't think we're covered for emergencies, I thought.

"Let me know what they say.'

My not so little boy was hot, sore, sick, a bit frightened but reassured by my calm acceptance of the verdict. The neighbour's daughter had been back at school five days after hers and with key-hole surgery there's only a tiny scar. I was unnaturally calm. I hate hospitals. General anaesthetics terrify me. My father had been just as convincingly godly in his medical pronouncements and I was just as sheep-like with him.

And with the nurses and students in surgical admission as we waited and waited. Two hours after we arrived it took six attempts by two housemen and the student before they finally inserted the canula and dripped much needed moisture back into his system. At least we had a breeze, but anyone could have walked in the backdoor. Now I know what happens in medical dramas when they pull the curtains around a cubicle and move the story elsewhere - very little. Why didn't I make a fuss? Perhaps it was because my son was so brave. Perhaps we were both awed by the intermittent gurgles and moans from the child in the next room. I faced her mother's anguish later in the corridor.

We were admitted to the ward at 5.30 p. m.

'Mum I can't take this pain much longer and I'm so hot and thirsty.'

'Your body's not really thirsty - they've dripped several litres into you already. Shall I ask the nurse to give you an injection for the pain - nurses are much better with needles."

I had been home briefly to feed his sibling. Now I had moral support from his father but they all expected me to know what to do. It was 8.30 p.m. and my faith, my certainty that everyone knew what they were doing was just beginning to waver.

'Nurse, he's in a lot of pain and very hot. '

'Yes - his temperature's through the roof. I'll see if I can find a fan but I wouldn't hold out much hope. I can do something about the pain though.'

"When are they going to operate?'

"I don't know; it could be any time.'

But I knew that it would be in time. Nothing could go wrong in hospital. 'They' were in control.

At 10.00 p.m. we went home. I wished I hadn't but I was tired too, and still I trusted them.

At 11.00 p.m. we phoned: "What a coincidence, we're just prepping him for theatre.' Please ring us, whatever the time, when he comes round.

2.00 a.m. 'He's come round and he's OK. The operation went well." We forgot to ask if it really was his appendix. Three hours seemed a long time for a half-hour operation.

Noon: I rang to give you the result so that you could write a medical certificate for the school. Odd that you couldn't ring the hospital direct yourself.

"What state was it in?' you asked.

"I don't know but I'll find out at 3.00 when I go in."

So it was appendicitis. In fact it was peritonitis by the time they operated. My child was weak from lack of food and the effects of the antibiotics; he has a 10 centimetre scar on his abdomen but he was still fighting to be a man about it.

'They had to swill me out with saline,.' his voice so faint I had to lean over to hear it. 'There was a liver transplant yesterday morning. It threw out the whole surgical list.'

My faith shattered instantly. No longer will I believe 'they' know what they are doing amid the uncleared bedpans and hole-ridden blankets. 'Why' I wanted to say to you 'did they run such a risk?' 'On economic grounds alone he was a better bet than the liver transplant.'

Today I have my answer in the local paper - Ashenden has run out of money and so has the health authority. 'Unacceptable delays to operations' shrieks the headline. I think we might have found death unacceptable if 'they' had delayed much longer.

This is much too long and you will ignore most of it but you did ask me to tell you what happened. We won't complain. It would be a waste of time, but you are a 'customer'. They might listen to you. You have money to spend.

Incidentally, we didn't get a consultant - you have to work for the hospital to get one of those. And private insurance only guarantees a private room, not an emergency operation.

Thank you for coming out. We appreciated your care.