There was harsh criticism of members of the medical profession on the third day of direct testimony at the haemophilia tribunal yesterday.
One of those infected with hepatitis C said he felt he was used as a guinea pig by medics who did not know how to deal with what was for them a phenomenon at the time, haemophiliacs infected with hepatitis C.
The 55-year-old father of two described how a doctor sat back in his chair and yawned after giving him his diagnosis.
In October 1995 he got a two-line letter from St James's Hospital, Dublin, calling him for a hepatitis C test. He had the test done and believed the hospital would contact him if there was a problem. It did not.
Four months later the man, using the name Trevor to protect his identity, told the tribunal he attended his GP with an injury to his elbow. His doctor informed him that the hepatitis C test had been inconclusive.
"I thought for such a serious illness that wasn't really good enough," he said.
He contacted the hospital immediately and had a further test. When he went to hear the results a doctor sat behind a desk and opened his book and said: "You've got it all right."
Then he sat back on his chair and had a big yawn. Trevor was taken aback. Given the doctor's casual attitude he thought hepatitis C was something he would get over. He went home in a state of shock.
Trevor, whose haemophilia was not diagnosed until he was 22 and who ran the Dublin city marathon at the age of 25, said the next few years of his life were hell.
"It eats away at you. You are lying in bed thinking about it. You've got this and there is no cure for it," he said.
He hoped the tribunal would get to the bottom of what happened and stop "the passing of the buck that goes on in these institutions".
Another witness, the wife of a man who had hepatitis C and died of liver failure in 1993, said she hoped such a disaster as happened to haemophiliacs would never happen again.
Using the name Isobel, she said the healthcare system needed to be looked at and medics and paramedics needed to realise that patients were real people.
The primary consideration should not be who would be blamed or who would "get the chop". Responsibility had to be taken if something went wrong, she said.
The mother of three said her husband, a founder member of the Irish Haemophilia Society, was informed by letter that he had hepatitis C in the early 1980s. She was surprised he got the information in this way.
He suffered liver failure and while awaiting a liver transplant in 1993 he felt unwell and was admitted to St Vincent's Hospital, Dublin, where he was to have the transplant, and had a scan.
The day before the results of the scan were to be be made known, a doctor indicated to Isobel that they were not good.
She wanted to be with him when he was given the results and made this clear to the hospital. She went to work the next morning and then went to the hospital to be at his bedside as arranged.
He already knew his fate. She was devastated and felt that was unacceptable. He had liver cancer and could not have a transplant. He was dead in 36 hours.
She complained about a lack of communication between St Vincent's and St James's Hospitals and said no counselling was provided over the years at the National Haemophilia Treatment Centre in St James's.
Counsel for the hospital put it to her that doctors at the centre were trying to get counselling up and running from 1985. In 1988 two extra social workers were appointed, funded by the National Lottery. "That's about the size of it. . .lottery funds. . .that sums it up," Isobel responded. Her reply was greeted with laughter and applause in the public gallery.