Every day the headlines are filled with debate about immigration, numbers crossing the Channel, and how quickly government cant act. Yet in the same breath, over 7 million people in England are on NHS waiting lists, with nearly 3 million of us not even seen for a first appointment.
While politicians speak about ‘crisis’, they forget another one already here — patients like me, living with chronic pain and conditions such as Fowler’s syndrome, waiting not just weeks but months or years for surgery like a Mitrofanoff that could transform quality of life.
One crisis dominates the news cycle; the other dominates our daily lives. Both deserve attention — but patients on waiting lists don’t have the luxury of being postponed to tomorrow’s debate.”
It’s been nearly twelve months since I last wrote something like this, so forgive me for neglecting this platform — but today I bring to you a plea for Keir. Not the construction company or the car manufacturer, but the man who now calls himself our Prime Minister. So, let’s get cracking and get this show on the road.
Dear Sir Keir,
I know you’ll be up to your eyeballs in paperwork, tanned from your friendship with St. Tropez’s most famous ambassador, Donald Trump. But I need to raise something else that demands urgent attention: not just your government’s inability to manage our borders, but the crisis unfolding in the NHS. Every day the headlines are dominated by debates about immigration and Channel crossings, yet in the same breath we’re told little about the 7.6 million people in England currently waiting for NHS treatment. Politicians talk about a crisis on our shores, but they forget the crisis already happening here — patients like me, living with chronic pain and conditions such as Fowler’s syndrome, waiting not just weeks but years for life-changing surgeries.
At the start of 2024, my life fell apart. I had just become single and lost a job I loved. Ironically, the two things I thought gave me stability turned out to be toxic. Looking back, starting my own digital PR agency was the best decision I could have made, but those upheavals were only the beginning. In January, at 28 years old, I suffered my first urinary tract infection. By April, I had endured five more and gone days at a time unable to pass urine. When I finally went to a pharmacy in desperation, the pharmacist urged me to get to A&E immediately. I arrived looking nine months pregnant, with 1.5 litres of urine trapped in my bladder. April 9th became the last day I was able to do something as basic as urinate on my own.
Last year, I spent 69 hours in hospital, contracted 31 catheter-associated urinary tract infections, and had 3 overnight admissions. I should add that some of those were under your government. Your cabinet likes to always say ‘we inherited from the last gov’, and it’s about time that you moved on too. I was also denied essential catheter care because I lived at home and was under 65; if you have a catheter, you need catheter support. Half of those hours spent in the NHS A&E would’ve been avoided had I had access to catheter support. In July, I was diagnosed with Fowler’s Syndrome, a urological condition which means my urethral sphincter doesn’t open like yours or the Mrs’. The illness remains under-researched and misunderstood due to the nature of the condition only affecting women. If men experienced Fowler’s Syndrome, there’d be a tablet to cure it. I’d like to add that working-age women are disproportionately affected by the waiting lists and that even if you get seen by a clinical member of staff, you’re added to several other waiting lists. I question whether the TV gameshow Pointless could have a new segment on waiting lists.
While on the subject of gender, urology is a male area of medicine. At most appointments, I am the only woman and only young person in the department. It’s a very invasive and personal area to be poked and prodded without an ounce of pleasure. I think urology registrars have seen more of my downstairs department than eligible counterparts. I was unable to perform self-catheterisation because of the swelling my bladder produces when it’s unable to pass urine and the pain in my urethra. And just if biology isn’t discussed at the Cobra meetings, the urethra is where urine comes from. For men, self-catheterising is easy because you can see the hole pee comes from. For us gals, we can’t unless we have a mirror on hand or do a side hustle that Bonnie Blue would be mentoring. For three months, doctors would continue to imply I would prefer to have a urethral permanent catheter instead of being tube-free. I can confirm, I’d have loved to have been able to self-catheterise. I compare it to my ex. If he could’ve changed, he would’ve.
Since then, my reality has been living with a catheter. What many people don’t realise is just how risky that is: each day a catheter is in place, there’s a 3–10% chance of bacteria entering the bladder, and within a month, almost every long-term user develops bacteriuria. More than half of catheter users experience at least one complication, and catheters are linked to up to 80% of hospital-acquired urinary tract infections. In the UK, an estimated 90,000 people rely on long-term catheters, which means thousands live every day with discomfort, infection, and deteriorating health. For some, like me, we know it’s temporary, but the lack of dignity catheters bring is just something I can’t unpack in the written word.
In July, your very first month in office, I was referred to UCLH because of their expertise in female urology. Yet in the initial referral, I was downgraded on the assumption that “a girl my age wouldn’t need a urology referral.” That mistake alone has left me at least six months further behind in my care. I’m now waiting for a Mitrofanoff procedure, an operation that creates a new channel to empty the bladder safely and with dignity, using part of my own body to form a small stoma through which I can pass a catheter. For people with Fowler’s syndrome, it’s not just another operation — it’s a lifeline, the chance to live without constant pain, infections, and the daily indignity of managing a catheter. Never did I think that I would be wishing a major abdominal surgery to hurry up, a procedure that’ll take me out of action for three to six months in fact.
Yet despite the difference it could make, I remain on an NHS waiting list that feels endless. And for people like me, these delays are not just an inconvenience; they are dangerous. So Kier, yes you might need to sort the borders and be in the UK for longer than a day but have a look at whether the surgical waiting lists have actually come down or if you’ve talked about it so much you start believing the sales-man chatter.
All the best,
