WE WERE all geared up for Emily to have her tonsils out.

The hospital had confirmed the date, Dave had taken time off work and both grannies were on hand to look after Daisy and Ruby while Em recovered.

Em, meanwhile, had got her work in order, cleaned the house and done a lot of cooking for when she might not be feeling like providing a meal.

She appeared at the hospital at ten o'clock on the appointed day, having been warned that she would not be going down to theatre before 2pm.

She knew that she was allowed nothing to eat or drink but had to refuse anything that was offered on her own initiative since that chilling instruction nil by mouth' was nowhere to be seen.

Two o'clock came and went and so did three o'clock. At four a nurse came to tell her that there had been an emergency and they couldn't take her tonsils out that day.

Nursing a thumping headache caused by dehydration, Em went home.

"Of course, emergencies can't be helped and I'd gladly give up my place to anyone who was hurt, but surely somebody could have come to tell me sooner, because it was obvious for the whole afternoon that things were running very late," she said, taking it much more calmly than I would have done.

But the pity of it is that, having spent much of her life suffering from bouts of tonsilitis and having been deemed a suitable candidate for a tonsilectomy, she finally made up her mind to do something about it - no easy decision at 37 - only to be let down. And she's far from being alone in this.

Now, not confident that the same thing won't happen next time, she's looking into alternative treatment.

I'm not taking a swing at the National Health Service which in emergencies is second to none. But something is obviously very wrong with its system of communication.

And shouldn't dealing with emergencies, as well as carrying out routine operations, be what hospitals are all about?