Between June the 19th 2009, and the 27th November 2009, I had been seen by Dr. Morris and also a young lady locum doctor, and again by Dr. Morris and his medical assistant doctor; and finally by Morris again.
On my last consultation, he told me that all of my tests had come back normal, and that he was taking me off all medication, and he told me that although my cholesterol was fine, government guidelines advise that someone who had undergone a procedure like I had in 1996, should take an anti-cholesterol tablet, and an Aspirin daily, and I agreed. He also told me there was no need for any anti-anginal medication at all and that he would write to my GP and tell him this, which he did, and I have a copy of that letter.
So now we have this situation: It’s not a gangster in Maltatelling me I don’t need any medication, it’s a cardiologist telling me, after all the scans etc. that I don’t need it.
First thing is, that confirmed what Joe Vella had told me was right, and poses the question, how did he know?
Second, how come after fourteen years, I am told I don’t need any anti-anginal medication at all. Let’s face it I am fourteen years older, and if anything, I should need more medication, and not be told I don’t need any at all. That is not what I expected. I expected to be told I should resume taking the medication in an attempt to give the doctors a way out.
Anyway, as I stood up to leave a thought flashed through my mind, and I sat down again and asked Dr. Morris this question: ‘I know Dr. G. L. Jones must be retired by now but if I wanted to contact him how could I do it?’
His reply knocked me side ways. ‘Gareth Jones Mr Bellett? He is years from retirement, he is only my age, or even a bit younger, and his surgery is in Cross Hands.’
I just looked at him and asked, ‘And how old are you doc’?’
Then I asked about a signature, that everyone so far had said they didn’t know to whom it belonged, because it was just a scrawl. He looked at it and said, ‘Well that’s not allowed now, because it’s just a line, but I can tell you whose it is.’ Then he pulled out a sheet of paper and identified the line as the mark used by a Dr. Akabhar, an overseas exchange doctor who had now left PPH, but who had been one of Phil Avery’s team in 1998. I thanked him, and shook his hand, and left.
Now the plot thickens, because the doctor I saw in June 1998, and not in December 1998, I remembered as being approximately six or seven years older than me, and certainly not ten years younger than me, so not only had they changed the date of the appointment, they had also changed the name of the doctor who had prescribed me the drug Simvastatin. But what was I to do now?
I decided to go to see the two doctors, Dr. G. L. Jones, who was supposed to have seen me on the 21st December 1998 and prescribed me the Simvastatin, and Dr. Philip Ebden, who was supposed to have treated me in March 1998, and who was supposed to have increased my Istin medication, causing my dizziness to worsen, and cause black outs and fainting.
From what Dr. Morris had told me, I now knew Jones held surgery in Cross Hands medical centre, but how was I going to find Dr. Ebden? All I can say is, it was by pure chance, or by another one of those coincidence’s, but it happened like this: I was explaining everything to my good friend Mary, and having a cup of tea, when her daughter Sarah got up and went upstairs, and ten minutes later come back with Dr. Ebden’s e-mail address, and told me he was a lecturer at Swansea University, but he also worked at Singleton Hospital. She had got it all off the Internet.
That night I just felt it was time to visit Cannon Flook again, and I fell asleep for the next four nights praying, and asking my guardian angel to let Cannon Flook remember me. Then on the Monday I drove down toSt Joseph’s and knocked on the presbytery door, only to be told he wasn’t in. I took the phone number and jumped back into my car, somewhat disappointed, and started to drive off, when I decided that I should stop and wipe my windscreen, and just as I pulled into the curb and got out, Cannon Flook pulled up in his car, and I walked over to him saying, ‘Hello father, do you remember me?’
He looked at me quizzically and said, ‘that’s really uncanny I was only thinking of you last night and started reading those papers you left with me!’
I just smiled and asked if I could come and see him some-time, and he said, ‘Of course, but ring me later in the week because I am very busy at the moment.’
Prior to all this, I had been feeling an urge to look through all my paperwork again, and I had dragged it all out, not knowing exactly what I was looking for, but there I was trawling through it again. Then I picked up a bundle of papers that were mixed up with my medical records, that contained a search warrant from November 1998, and a letter from DCI Packwood from the West Midlands fraud squad, confirming receipt of my letter faxed to him on the 22nd December 1998!
I couldn’t believe it! Everything came flooding back, and I remembered everything. I wasn’t in PPH on the 21st December, 1998, I was in Wolverhampton from the 19th to the 21st December 1998, staying with an former work colleague of mine, Geoffrey Foulkes, trying to get more evidence from him about the corruption in theLondon + Manchester Assurance Company! Then after finding that, as chance had it, Geoff was back inEngland to attend his father’s funeral, and was staying for a couple of months. We met up, and he remembered me staying with him that particular time before Christmas 1998, because that was the last Christmas he had spent in that house before selling it after splitting up with his wife and going to live in Goa, India. And he made a statement to that affect.
Now I come to my second meeting with the Cannon. He was very warm and welcoming, and still surprised at how uncanny it was that just the day before I turned up he had picked up the paperwork I had left with him. I couldn’t help smiling, and agreed it was uncanny. He then told me that after the last time I had spoken to him, he had gone toIreland, but that he had passed out at the wheel of his car and crashed into a motorway bridge, and had needed to be cut out of the wreckage. But that he had been virtually unscathed in the accident, and commented that he felt God had saved him, and that perhaps God had some purpose that he wanted him to carry out.
Once again I just smiled, but felt very serious when I replied, ‘I think you might just be right Father, maybe there is some work for you to do.’
We talked for a bit, and then I told him the purpose of my visit, which was to ask if he visitedSingletonHospitalto take care of the needs of the Catholic patients, and to ask if he knew Dr. Philip Ebden. He said he visitedMorristonHospital, but Fr. Peter Kelly was the priest I should talk to, and gave me a directory of all the Catholic churches inWales, the names of the priests and their phone numbers, and ringed Fr. Kelly’s number for me.
Thanking him for his time and help, I got up to leave and he offered me a blessing. He blessed me, and as I raised my head he looked at me and said, ‘Let me give you this Peter.’ And he produced a round metal decat of the rosary with a crucifix atop of it.
I thanked him and left feeling strangely uplifted, and that night for the first time since I was a teenager I used the gift Cannon Flook had given me, and prayed. And since then, I have prayed every evening, every morning, and every day, and my life has changed.
The next morning, after my visit to the Cannon, I contacted Fr. Kelly and arranged to meet with him, and at that meeting explained how I was trying to get in touch with Dr Ebden. He said he would make some enquiries and phone me. The next day, Fr. Kelly phoned and told me that Dr. Ebden did still attendSingletonHospital, but only to take students around the patients, and the best thing to do was phone his secretary Emma, to try and make an appointment to see him through her.
The next morning I phoned and a woman answered and asked who I wanted to speak to, and when I asked for Emma I was told she was busy, but that she would pass a message on to her to phone me back, and asked me if I could say why I wanted to speak with her. I explained that Fr. Kelly had told me to phone, and she just said okay Mr Bellett I will pass that on; and within fifteen minutes, Emma phoned me and asked what she could do to help. I explained that I wanted to see Dr. Ebden, even if it was just for five minutes, but she told me Dr. Ebden was a very busy man, and his diary was full, but if I wanted to write a letter and ask him for a meeting, and explain the reason I wanted to see him, I could hand it to her personally and she would make sure he got it, and that no-one else would read it.
That was the 8th February 2010, and that evening I sat down and wrote that letter, and at9 am the next morning, I was in a computer shop having it printed before jumping into my car, to deliver it in person to Emma.
I arrived atSingletonHospitalat10:30 am, only to find there was a convention going on, and after driving around the Hospital car park I decided that I would have to park somewhere on the sea front and walk back. Then my first bit of luck! As I was driving out, a young woman waved to me, indicating that she was leaving; she got in her car, pulled out, and I pulled in, and it was that easy. Then I made my way to ward eight, and to Emma’s office, I knocked on the door, the door opened, and I walked in, and guess what, sitting right in front of me was the doctor who I saw in June 1998, not December 1998, the doctor who prescribed me the Simvastatin. I just pointed at him and said ‘you’re Dr. Ebden.’ I recognised him immediately.
He just looked at me and replied, ‘You must be Mr Bellett, the gentleman that wants to see me.’
‘That’s me,’ I said adding, ‘I know you’re busy, but could you read this letter and perhaps meet with me when it’s convenient?’
He said, ‘You’re right Mr Bellett, I am very busy. Another five minutes and I would have been gone. What exactly is it you want to see me about?’
I just came right out with it, ‘Your name has been used fraudulently, saying you increased one of my medications.’
He just said, ‘Oh! Let’s go to my office.’ And I had about half an hour of his time.
I explained everything, and that it was he that had put me on the drug Simvastatin in June 1998, and that it wasn’t him that increased my Istin medication in March 1998.
He explained, and I accept what he said, that he see’s thousands of patients, and prescribes thousands of drugs each year, and that for him to remember all of those consultations is virtually impossible.
‘Yes doctor, I understand that.’ I replied, ‘But I haven’t seen thousands of doctors, or been prescribed thousands of drugs, I saw just three doctors in Philip Avery’s clinic, Philip Avery himself, in June 1997, you in June 1998, and Dr. Izzat in June 1999, and you’re the one who prescribed the Simvastatin.’ Then I continued, telling him I remembered telling him that I smoked cannabis, and I remembered him saying to me that he was putting me on a Statin, and that he couldn’t understand why I hadn’t been prescribed it when I was prescribed the Istin.
He just smiled and said, ‘You remember all that?’
‘Yes doc,’ I replied, repeating, ‘As I’ve said, I only ever saw three doctors, Philip Avery, you, and Dr. Izzat.’
He said he didn’t really think he could help me, but he already had. We shook hands and I left.