It feels like I’m always up at Whipps Cross these days, visiting the hospital. If it’s not physio, or seeing my consultant, it’s driving a neighbour to her appointments. But I don’t really mind, because I feel that I’m in safe hands there. Over the years I’ve been to various departments – admittedly some with the furniture in a better state of repair than others, and some with a keener eye for punctuality than others – but at the end of the day, I’ve always been treated well, and with respect (even when I was stupid enough to slice my finger open on a cheese grater). In fact it was a Whipps Cross physio who identified the cause of my mobility problems, and set me on a path which is leading to understanding, better pain management, and hopefully some rehabilitation. The moment of my diagnosis was when I began to truly appreciate having such good facilities and staff on my doorstep.

I am also lucky to have an excellent GP. Every time I step into her office she says something which shows she has remembers me, and although she could have just reviewed my notes, some of her questions suggest she really knows who I am. Somehow, she always has time for her patients and to chat a little, yet is always running to time with her appointments.

In fact she is such an exceptional doctor that I was amazed to learn something of her past on the internet. Apparently, my GP came to the UK as a refugee from Algeria, and a cross-training course enabled her to access the NHS. Now there’s an advert for the UK treating refugees with understanding and respect.

So, at least as far as I am concerned, the NHS is getting many things right in Waltham Forest.

However, there’s one word I can say to bring down the optimism: that word is “dentist”. The national surfeit of NHS dentists is often in the news, but I found one quite readily when I wanted a check up in 2006. At least, I thought I did. At consultation I was swiftly told that the only way to be treated as quickly as I needed was to go private. I was presented with a conflicting message: that I required urgent treatment – for which I would have to go private because the NHS would count me as a low priority. Hmm. If the NHS wouldn’t prioritise my treatment, then surely it couldn’t be as urgent as the dentist made out? Although I’d made the appointment on the strength of the practise accepting new NHS patients, when I was there I felt a lot of pressure to go private. I’d hate to think what that pressure would do to someone who hasn’t the means to pay. And since when did dentists become salesmen? That just feels wrong to me.

Having been offput by that experience, I no longer see a dentist. Arguably I ought to – but I’m not sure how to find one which will not only treat me on the NHS but which will understand the needs I have as a result of my disability. Just finding a surgery without stairs would be a start!

I know that experience is subjective, but (ignoring dentists) I’ve been impressed by the medical care I receive. And often in this newspaper there are letters of gratitude from patients or their relatives. I know, too, that people are more ready to complain than to give thanks. So for now I want to take the time to say thank you to my GP, thank you to Whipps Cross Hospital, and thank you to the NHS in Waltham Forest. And if anyone hears of a good NHS dentist, please pass me their details!