It began with a simple Google search for a term I had never encountered before: 'Cryptococcus'. That initial query plunged me into a seven-year struggle against one of Britain's most powerful health authorities, NHS Greater Glasgow and Clyde (NHSGGC). What followed was a relentless campaign of deception, harassment and surveillance as I sought the truth about rare, deadly infections affecting vulnerable cancer patients at a flagship hospital.
The Shiny New Hospital and a Deadly Secret
The Queen Elizabeth University Hospital (QEUH) opened in 2015 amidst tremendous celebration. The Scottish Government proudly proclaimed it had been delivered 'on time and under budget', while critics of this gleaming £1 billion facility were swiftly dismissed. The late Queen Elizabeth herself attended the opening ceremony as guest of honour, lending royal approval to this state-of-the-art medical achievement.
Yet just four years later, patients were contracting Cryptococcus – an infection my research revealed originates from bird droppings – within these supposedly sterile walls. NHSGGC issued two discreet press releases in January 2019, confirming two patient deaths from the infection. The timing, just after 5pm, suggested an attempt to bury troubling news.
A Web of Obstruction and Intimidation
My investigation into QEUH and the adjoining Royal Hospital for Children uncovered increasingly disturbing patterns. The more questions I asked, the greater the resistance became. NHSGGC transformed into what felt like a health board 'stasi', employing aggressive tactics to suppress the truth.
Initial responses involved complaining about every article I wrote, demanding corrections for minor details, and deliberately delaying responses to legitimate queries. When I revealed a £50 million repair bill for hospital ventilation systems – crucial given that fungal spores from pigeon droppings were infecting immunocompromised patients – health bosses insisted the figure was false and demanded the story's removal. Fortunately, reliable sources and editorial support allowed the truth to emerge. By last year, that repair bill had ballooned to approximately £78 million.
The Relentless Mole Hunt
NHSGGC became obsessed with identifying my sources. Press officers made inappropriate jokes about my contacts being 'on holiday' or suggested they were mentally unstable – a particularly appalling attempt to discredit whistleblowers using mental health stigma. When the Scottish Hospitals Inquiry commenced in 2020, it emerged the health board had conducted a full-scale investigation to uncover who was speaking to me.
Despite finding no evidence, NHSGGC falsely accused three courageous doctors – Teresa Inkster, Penelope Redding and Christine Peters – of being my primary sources. Other obstructive tactics included overwhelming me with irrelevant information, refusing freedom of information requests, and consistently denying interview requests with the chief executive across seven years.
Shocking Surveillance and Personal Betrayal
In mid-2024, I submitted a Subject Access Request to discover what information NHSGGC held about me. The revelations were both shocking and deeply unsettling. Redacted documents revealed an organisation that fundamentally disrespected my work, describing conversations with me as 'dangerous' and accusing me of 'twisting' the truth. Disturbingly, they referred to my questions about a toddler's death as mere 'shenanigans'.
The surveillance extended far beyond professional boundaries. When I moved to Westminster in 2020, NHSGGC staff monitored my career progression, exchanging emails about my promotion with comments like 'at least she'll be leaving us alone!!'. Most hurtfully, they circulated a private message I had sent to a former colleague during the pandemic, when my grandmother was dying of cancer in QEUH. My desperate inquiry about visiting guidelines was met with unsympathetic remarks about 'very clear' online information.
Systematic Social Media Spying
NHSGGC maintained detailed timelines of my interactions with them, misspelling my name in official documents. They monitored my social media posts and employed private 'social listening' software to surveil critics, including Louise Slorance, whose husband Andrew contracted aspergillus while awaiting a bone marrow transplant in 2020. My exposure of this spying campaign eventually forced a parliamentary apology.
The Human Cost and Unanswered Questions
While my experience caused significant stress and sleepless nights, it pales beside the suffering of whistleblowers, patients and families affected by this scandal. Some original sources have become friends; I have watched infected children grow into resilient teenagers, and seen families relocate abroad to escape the trauma.
The Scottish Hospitals Inquiry, commissioned by former health secretary Jeane Freeman – the only minister brave enough to engage seriously with this crisis – concludes later this year. Many hope for definitive answers, though my confidence remains guarded. What began as curiosity about an unfamiliar infection term evolved into a defining professional and personal journey, revealing systemic failures and institutional bullying at the heart of one of Britain's most significant NHS scandals. The battle for transparency continues, and the questions will not cease until full accountability is achieved.
