Discussions of cross-Solent travel are nothing new to Islanders.
In recent weeks, Isle of Wight Conservative MP, Robert Seely has called for fairer ferry prices, and the Isle of Wight Council has introduced a new discount scheme for low-income families.
But with further calls to discount travel for those going to the mainland for hospital appointments, there is an entire group of Islanders whose lives depend on the ferries.
Travelling for cancer treatment
To see the lengths they go to to attend appointments on the mainland, last Monday I travelled with Jill Longstaffe, 78, from Yarmouth, for her 30-minute pre-radiotherapy consultation.
Jill was previously given the all-clear, only to be told two weeks later the cancer was still in her knee. She was hoping to find out from her 11.30am appointment when the next round of radiotherapy would start.
8am: I leave East Cowes to drive the 14 miles to Jill’s Yarmouth home. Despite leaving an extra 15-minutes, I still get caught in Newport traffic and end up running late. I pick up Jill and her wheelchair and we drive another 12 miles to the Red Jet.
Total cost: approx £3 (petrol).
Time travelling: One hour 15 minutes.
9.30am: We arrive at the Red Jet and I drop Jill at the terminal. I have to drive around Cowes to find parking, which costs £5 for the day. I end up running down the hill to try to catch the ferry on time.
Total cost: £8.
Time travelling: One hour, 30 minutes.
10am: Jill’s daughter Sarah is attending the consultation with us — she goes to all her mum’s appointments. She lives in Ryde so had to get two buses, which takes over 90 minutes, to get to Cowes.
Jill tells me tickets for her and her daughter previously cost £9.50 for both. Today it cost £20, despite her showing staff the appointment letter, and no one can explain the 100+ per cent increase.
Total cost: £28
Time travelling: Two hours.
10.20am: We make it on to the Red Jet. Jill tells me this is her first appointment of the week. She has to come back on Wednesday, and has been told 10am is the latest the hospital can see her.
She says:
“I’m not exactly asking for a lie-in!”
We spend the journey talking about Jill’s time performing in the 1960s.
Sarah tells me her and Jill enjoy saying inappropriate things to the consultant for a laugh.
Time travelling: Two hours, 20 minutes.
11am: When we arrive at Southampton we are lucky enough to be greeted by the Wessex Cancer Daisy Bus. Jill says this is a ‘lifeline’ for them, and can save them £12 each way on taxis. However, sometimes the bus is full, or can only take one wheelchair, which leaves them no choice but to pay for a taxi.
On the bus are other people heading to the hospital, including Jane and Sarah from Jersey. Jane is staying on the mainland for five weeks to attend treatment. The bus, which she says is vital to them, takes them to and from their hotel each day. Sarah says the NHS has paid for their travel and accommodation, and she can go home once (once!) over the five weeks. She has a rota of friends coming to visit her, but she says she’s worried about the cat she left behind (in the care of friends).
Total cost: £28 + a donation to the Daisy Bus.
Time travelling: Three hours.
11.19am: We make it to the hospital but get lost in the oncology department. After taking two wrong lifts, we arrive at the appointment with eight minutes to spare.
Time travelling: Three hours, 19 minutes.
12.15pm: During the wait for the appointment, Jill tells me she’s not worried about losing her hair again:
“Last time people kept giving me these dreadful hats, but I stopped wearing them. I have nothing to be ashamed of.”
1pm: Half an hour later, Jill is back. Conflicting advice from the consultant has left her feeling ‘tired and confused’. She had a different consultant to normal, and Sarah says the appointment could have been done over the phone. They have recorded the appointment to listen to later. Still no start date for treatment.
We get lost getting out, and Jill has started shaking, so we stop for lunch. Jill tells me about her three children, 11 grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren:
“We only came to the Island as five and now we have four generations.”
Time travelling: Five hours.
1.40pm: The Daisy Bus doesn’t pick up from the hospital until 2.15pm, so we decided to call a taxi. It arrives within a few minutes — Jill says this is quite unusual, and they normally have to chase them around the hospital as they struggle to find the right department.
Time travelling: Five hours and 40 minutes.
2pm: We make it back to the Red Jet. We don’t have any change so the taxi driver undercharges us. I don’t know how Jill is still cracking jokes — I’m already beginning to flag.
It’s now a 40 minute wait for the Red Jet. For all that we have been travelling six hours, Jill and Sarah say this has been a relatively straightforward journey.
Jill says:
“We just have to get on and do it.
“There’s so many people making this journey every day. I am not unusual.”
While we sit waiting, Sarah says she wants to start making clothing for tortoises.
Total cost, including taxi: £38.
Time travelling: Six hours.
2.47pm: We are finally on the Red Jet — a lovely member of staff helps wheel Jill down the steep ramp, saving me from almost wheeling her into the sea. Talk immediately turns to the next appointment. It feels a bit like planning a mission.
Jill tells me she persuaded her consultant to take up salsa, and tries to convince me too:
“Everyone should dance. It’s like nothing else.”
Time travelling: Six hours, 47 minutes.
4pm: I drop Jill back at home. She tells me she only wants to be well enough to perform on stage again, and wishes they’d hurry up and start treatment. She says:
“I feel like that game, Space Invaders, with this in my body. I am only getting sicker.”
She says she worries about being a burden on her family, and struggles with her lost independence.
Total cost: £40 (included additional petrol).
Time travelling: Eight hours.
Exhausting eight-hour journey
The result of the day is an eight-hour journey for a 30-minute consultation that could have taken place over the phone, or Skype.
Speaking to a different consultant has left Jill more confused about her treatment plan than before, so the time and expense hardly seem worth it. She still doesn’t have a date for when she will start treatment.
Stress of the journey
I am 25 and healthy and by the end of the day I am worn out. Jill tells me the added stress of journeys like these don’t help the recovery process.
She said:
“I don’t think hospitals realise the stress of travelling to appointments. A missed connection can leave you waiting for hours. It’s not like jumping in a car and popping down the road.”
This article is from the BBC’s LDRS (Local Democracy Reporter Service) scheme, which OnTheWight is taking part in. Some additions by OnTheWight. Ed
