Right. Picture this, you’ve got cancer. Not the man flu. Not a dodgy curry aftermath. Actual, terrifying, soul-grinding cancer. The kind that makes your knees wobble and your brain scream in all directions. And just when you need the NHS to be a well-oiled machine of hope and healing, what do you get? Strike ballots. Again. More bloody strikes than a 1970s British car factory.
Yes, the junior doctors… or as we now have to call them, “resident doctors” (because apparently that sounds more professional when they’re staging walkouts)… are threatening to down stethoscopes before the government has even had the decency to whisper what this year’s pay offer might be. It’s like flouncing out of a restaurant before the waiter’s even taken your drinks order, just because you heard someone else say the menu might not have truffle oil.
The British Medical Association is all wound up again, and in true dramatic fashion, they’ve declared: “Justice demands we hold the line.” Honestly, it sounds less like a pay negotiation and more like a Gladiator sequel. They’ve met with the new health secretary, Wes Streeting, who, by all accounts, failed to offer the golden ticket… a firm promise to restore pay to 2008 levels by 2027. Now, I’m no economist, but demanding a 14 per cent rise in one year, with the national purse strings tighter than a hipster’s jeans, is a bit like asking your nan for a Lamborghini because she once said you were her favourite.
And now, if the BMA’s ballot passes (and let’s face it, it will), we could be looking at six more months of strikes. July to January. That’s half a year of misery for cancer patients, heart patients, and anyone else who fancied staying alive past the summer holidays.
But it doesn’t stop there. Oh no. It’s not just the doctors with pitchforks. Nurses, teachers, and what feels like half the public sector are rumbling toward strike territory like a grumbling volcano of fury. The Royal College of Nursing is already sharpening its protest placards, and Unison’s got its finger hovering over the big red “Ballot” button. Even the education unions are itching to dust off their megaphones, with pay deals being haggled over like a Turkish bazaar.
One of the stupid issues is some of these strikes are based on what people think the pay offer might be. That’s right. Industrial action based on pure psychic speculation. “We haven’t heard anything yet, but we’ve decided to be furious anyway.” Brilliant.
Now, to be clear, I’m not saying doctors and nurses shouldn’t be paid more. Of course they should. They deal with things most of us couldn’t stomach on a full bottle of whisky. But when your protest puts lives at risk… when people with cancer, children needing transplants, or old folks needing heart ops have to sit and wait while the grown-ups argue over salaries… it all gets a bit difficult to defend.
And this isn’t just some Tory-bashing session, either. Labour are neck-deep in this. Sir Keir Starmer wants to cut NHS waiting lists, but if everyone with a stethoscope is on the picket line, he might as well promise to make pigs fly. In golden capes. With Wi-Fi. (note to self, calm down!)
Ministers are quietly hoping that doctors won’t have the stomach for more lost pay. But here’s the problem… last time they went on strike, some simply made the money back by mopping up all the overtime left behind by cancelled appointments. It’s less a strike and more a financial strategy.
So what have we got? An NHS haemorrhaging staff morale, a government trying to play poker with an empty wallet, and a nation of patients wondering whether they’ll be able to get a scan or just a leaflet and a sympathetic shrug.
Honestly, if you’re waiting for cancer treatment, this whole circus must feel like watching your house burn down while the fire brigade argues about their rota.
And that, dear reader, is not just unacceptable… it’s utterly, infuriatingly Bonkers!
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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