Read Online I Knew You'd Have Brown Eyes by Mary Tennant - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Tennant
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We had a hard time keeping them inside the ward. If a door was open they would take it.
We had seventy patients, and the hierarchy among the nurses was like nothing I had seen. As a junior sister, I dispensed medications and attended to dressings. The senior sister was a Scottish nurse, Sister Thomson. She saw her role as accompanying the doctors on their rounds and to make the morning coffee. The nurses’ aides got the difficult tasks of showering patients, dishing out bedpans and cleaning up after accidents. I couldn’t get used to seeing them working with difficult patients while we sisters had our morning coffee in the office. I started sneaking away to the showers to help. One day Sister Thomson found me there.
‘Sister Capra!’ she yelled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Showering patients,’ I said. ‘I’m a nurse and this is what I’m trained to do.’
She ordered me out of the showers and, humiliated, I had no option but to return to the nurses’ office. After that our relationship was strained.
During my afternoon shifts, when Sister Thomson had gone home, I mucked in and helped the aides. This gave me a good understanding of the patients and what it was to have dementia. Most were confused – they forgot their names, where they were and why they were there. Some had unsocial behaviour. One old man would pee in his water jug by his bed. Many walked aimlessly up and down the long corridor all day long, muttering to themselves. Others would physically fight with us when we tried to feed them or give them medication. It was sad when families came to visit and they didn’t recognise their loved ones.
One day I was at our weekly ward meeting when Sister Thomson made an announcement.
‘I’m going to shift the beds around so that the patients are in their friendship groups,’ she said.
The next day I was on late shift and walked into mayhem. The patients were more confused than ever. One man was jumping into bed with a woman because the day before it had been his bed. Another patient was shouting that someone had stolen his jacket, but he was in his old room and his jacket was by his new bed. Multiply this by seventy patients – it was bedlam. I was appalled.
No-one was game to tell Sister Thomson that her friendship groups weren’t working. She was so far removed from the daily caregiving that she seemed not to notice. Then she went on holidays. At our weekly meeting, with all the staff gathered, I stood up.
‘Does anyone else think that moving the patients’ beds around has been a disaster?’
Some people nodded, but no-one spoke. I was daring to oppose Sister Thomson and the other nurses were afraid of her.
‘I think it’s unfair to these people when they’re already confused and clearly not adjusting to the new situation.’ More nods.
‘Obviously we can’t change them back while Sister Thomson is on leave but, if I have some support, I’m willing to bring it up with her at our next meeting.’
Some of the nurses agreed to support me.
On the day of the meeting I nervously raised my hand indicating I had something to say.
‘Go ahead,’ Sister Thomson said.
‘Some of us here are concerned about the new arrangement of beds, Sister Thomson. It’s causing confusion in the ward and many patients are distressed.’
‘Is that so, Sister Capra!’ She was standing at the head of the table, glaring at me.
‘And who here agrees with Sister Capra’s assessment?’
Not one person raised their hand.
She had humiliated me again, but I wasn’t about to give in. I wrote to the director of nursing, expressing my concerns for our patients. One evening, soon after I had taken my letter to her office, I was on late shift, and the director appeared on the ward. I thought she was coming to chastise me.
‘Can you take me on a round, Sister Capra?’
‘Certainly.’ Once we were out of earshot of the other nurses she said, ‘Can you explain to me what your concerns are?’
I
We had seventy patients, and the hierarchy among the nurses was like nothing I had seen. As a junior sister, I dispensed medications and attended to dressings. The senior sister was a Scottish nurse, Sister Thomson. She saw her role as accompanying the doctors on their rounds and to make the morning coffee. The nurses’ aides got the difficult tasks of showering patients, dishing out bedpans and cleaning up after accidents. I couldn’t get used to seeing them working with difficult patients while we sisters had our morning coffee in the office. I started sneaking away to the showers to help. One day Sister Thomson found me there.
‘Sister Capra!’ she yelled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Showering patients,’ I said. ‘I’m a nurse and this is what I’m trained to do.’
She ordered me out of the showers and, humiliated, I had no option but to return to the nurses’ office. After that our relationship was strained.
During my afternoon shifts, when Sister Thomson had gone home, I mucked in and helped the aides. This gave me a good understanding of the patients and what it was to have dementia. Most were confused – they forgot their names, where they were and why they were there. Some had unsocial behaviour. One old man would pee in his water jug by his bed. Many walked aimlessly up and down the long corridor all day long, muttering to themselves. Others would physically fight with us when we tried to feed them or give them medication. It was sad when families came to visit and they didn’t recognise their loved ones.
One day I was at our weekly ward meeting when Sister Thomson made an announcement.
‘I’m going to shift the beds around so that the patients are in their friendship groups,’ she said.
The next day I was on late shift and walked into mayhem. The patients were more confused than ever. One man was jumping into bed with a woman because the day before it had been his bed. Another patient was shouting that someone had stolen his jacket, but he was in his old room and his jacket was by his new bed. Multiply this by seventy patients – it was bedlam. I was appalled.
No-one was game to tell Sister Thomson that her friendship groups weren’t working. She was so far removed from the daily caregiving that she seemed not to notice. Then she went on holidays. At our weekly meeting, with all the staff gathered, I stood up.
‘Does anyone else think that moving the patients’ beds around has been a disaster?’
Some people nodded, but no-one spoke. I was daring to oppose Sister Thomson and the other nurses were afraid of her.
‘I think it’s unfair to these people when they’re already confused and clearly not adjusting to the new situation.’ More nods.
‘Obviously we can’t change them back while Sister Thomson is on leave but, if I have some support, I’m willing to bring it up with her at our next meeting.’
Some of the nurses agreed to support me.
On the day of the meeting I nervously raised my hand indicating I had something to say.
‘Go ahead,’ Sister Thomson said.
‘Some of us here are concerned about the new arrangement of beds, Sister Thomson. It’s causing confusion in the ward and many patients are distressed.’
‘Is that so, Sister Capra!’ She was standing at the head of the table, glaring at me.
‘And who here agrees with Sister Capra’s assessment?’
Not one person raised their hand.
She had humiliated me again, but I wasn’t about to give in. I wrote to the director of nursing, expressing my concerns for our patients. One evening, soon after I had taken my letter to her office, I was on late shift, and the director appeared on the ward. I thought she was coming to chastise me.
‘Can you take me on a round, Sister Capra?’
‘Certainly.’ Once we were out of earshot of the other nurses she said, ‘Can you explain to me what your concerns are?’
I
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