A couple of years ago I had major surgery out of the blue. My appendix decided to grow in the wrong place and then get really ill, and then make the rest of my stomach really ill until I had to have a load of it removed, pronto. It went off ok, the surgeon was pleased with the job, and I was pleased with my morphine drip.
After a day or two that was gone, and as I recuperated in the hospital I experienced first hand the vulnerability known by people who need day to day help with personal care.
During my stay I came into contact with more than twenty carers and health professionals. Some were lovely, some not so. I learned what it was like to have someone in a position of power hover over me and make me feel small. To have people caring for me who didn’t seem to care at all and who seemed to lack any warmth or empathy. I was left on a toilet in a room at the end of a long corridor by the busy person who begrudgingly took me there and left me with no way of communicating that I was finished, being incapable of getting up and sorting myself out, and feeling quite devoid of all dignity.
The soundtrack to my recovery was hospital workers complaining around the clock about their shift patterns, pay and working conditions, which doctors were rude, how lazy Sharon on nights is, and so on.
During ward rounds Doctors discussed my case (ME) as if I were not even in the room. I was ignored except for them asking if I’d had a bowel movement (which they seem to be totally obsessed with in hospital by the way).
On the positive side there were people, natural facilitators if you please, who were fantastic. The student nurse who sat next to me and held my hand when I had an adverse reaction to some medication, and the physiotherapist who joked with me when I struggled to pass the stair test that would allow me to go home.
The experience was largely pretty horrible but I did gain this valuable insight into what it’s like to be reliant on others to have my basic needs met. Fast forward to my return to work and I had a new understanding of Great Interactions. I remember complimenting a colleague on the way she interacted with a young person whilst we helped him to change his incontinence aid. She seemed surprised, but the warmth and consideration she showed was fantastic. She turned an ostensibly basic activity into something empowering, asking for advice on how to help best, being gentle in her movements, saying what she was going to do next as she went along. I admired her. I was grateful.
The most basic day to day need of going to the toilet is an ongoing opportunity to meet vulnerability with trust, assurance and compassion. After all every interaction is an opportunity for a Great Interaction.
Rachelle Russell
Head of Operations
MacIntyre, No Limits