My First Patient

We had a task in one of the Care, Compassion and Communication sessions at university where we had to write a poem about an aspect of our placement experience so far. I've had a bit of a shaky year so far so I think this task hit me a little bit. I was fine writing the poem, I quite enjoyed it actually and found I slept better that night than I had in a while. Maybe I needed to get some things off my chest. When we attended the session people volunteered to read their poems to the class and I was one of those, feeling quite proud of what I'd produced and all. So I started reading it, and then felt the tears coming. I felt such a fool. My whole class seeing me so vulnerable and fall apart - I was so embarrassed. I managed to finish the poem and everyone was absolutely lovely (of course) but I hated the fact that they'd seen that side of me. Hated the fact that they were probably all thinking, "Look how soft she is", "She'll never survive nursing", "She's not resilient". But how wrong I was. My class is just amazing, every one of them clearly felt it too and I knew I wasn't alone. Nursing and working with vulnerable people has a profound effect on you. It's hard not to feel it and I think in that moment I realised that it's not about maintaining a hard shell all of the time. You can't wear armour all of the time. That release was exactly what I needed and I am so grateful now that I had it. I've found it pretty difficult to reflect on things in the structured manner that the university advise but I think I've found a method that really helps me - poetry. (I never thought I'd be saying those words!) 

Anyway, here is my poem about the very first patient I looked after on my very first placement - someone I will never forget.

My First Patient

Your first day on the ward, a strange place to be,

your proud smile says, "You don't need to look after me!".

You chat to all your neighbours in your bay,

Offering them a hand, you brighten up their day.

Your wife brings you flowers all the way from your farm,

a little piece of home for you to look back on.

Your home is your work place, your passion so true,

you talk with such fondness, with stories of the view.

I wish that you could see it now and be there just once more,

I'm sorry that you're confined here behind the hospital doors.

Your family, they pray for you and hope you'll be home soon,

they're missing you an awful lot, they're here most afternoons.

Days go by and your strength wanes,

it's difficult to fight through that much pain.

You accept our help, our comfort and support,

we provide care and compassion, with your needs in our thoughts.

I don't show you that I'm sad to see you get so weak,

I still sit by your bedside where we always speak.

The words we share become less and less,

I can see you fading, I must confess.

Your heart beats its last and your chest fails to rise,

you fade away so peacefully as you close your eyes.

You've gone to a better place now, a place without the pain,

with your family and loved ones, your spirit will remain.

I've known you such a short time, but have learnt a lot,

you are such an inspiration and will never be forgot.

And although it's sad that you're no longer here,   

I look back in happiness and not in fear.

A rant about the treatment of HCAs in Residential Homes

I'm sure you knew there had to be a rant at some point!

Well, I was just thinking about the shift I'm doing on Monday and got my self a bit wound up. Over the years that I've worked in care settings I've come across more brilliant HCAs than I have poor. My rant is not about how HCAs treat patients, it's about how HCAs are treated by management and the companies that they work for, often private.

I have worked in several homes and honestly, every single home is full of people who want to do the best that they can for every resident there, and they do (most of them!). They literally do not stop for 12 hours, even with the things that people would consider smaller details, like making sure that Mr. Smith's tea is at the right temperature, Mrs. Cole's bed is made to her liking, ensuring that fashionable Ms. Layton's skirt and top match and supporting and reassuring Mr. Bartlett's family. They put every ounce of energy they have into making patients' lives as happy and comfortable as possible and yet they are paid an absolute pittance! I work for a care agency and hate the fact that I get paid more than them - at least 30p an hour more in most places. This is disgusting and it amazes me how people can live on such a small wage, especially given the amount of work they complete in 1 shift. Many of the people I have worked with complete 60 hour plus weeks with no thanks. Is it any wonder that morale is through the floor?! I think it's time that people took a step back and took notice of the work that these admirable people do.

Massive respect to those out there who put their heart and soul into their work every day.