Dear our wonderful nurses...

‘The NHS is on its arse’. A commonly used phrase in our family, often in jest to my mum, who proudly carries with her that coveted NHS pension pot in order to keep my dad in the manner in which he’s been accustomed to when retirement beckons. However often this is used, it is rarely meant.

Now don’t worry mum, before you start with the palpitations over my pending paragraphs reflecting your many stories from the wondrous physiotherapy department, this one’s not about you. Don’t get me wrong, over the years you have presented me with enough material for a book in itself, and ‘Tales from the alcohol gel-lined broom cupboard’ will hopefully find its commission somewhere, one day.

No this week, I am focusing on our nurses. If you’ve been watching the news over the past few days, you’ve probably not missed the stories on Jeremy Hunt’s plans for the nursing profession. If you have however been watching re-runs of Alan Partridge or (god help you) Gossip Girl, then pay close attention as this will be a brief and reasonably sketchy explanation.

The Royal College of Nursing branded Hunt’s plans for newly qualified nurses to spend a year working as health care assistants, ‘stupid’. He also suggested that following the tragic circumstances at Mid Staffs hospital, the organisation should be focusing more on schemes to raise the standards of nursing across the board, and not debating plans for training.

From a ‘punters’ perspective I can see what Mr Hunt is saying. He’s trying to focus on the ‘care’ aspect of a nurse’s job, and making sure that every qualifying nurse gets ample experience of the basics of patient care. And after what happened in Staffordshire, you can understand his motivation.

But looking at it from a nursing angle, I can also see why they would see this as a slight on their profession (albeit the RCN’s ‘stupid’ response didn’t exactly offer an impassioned articulate argument).

There’s not many professions where it is suggested that you do a year in another job, before you go into the profession you have trained for. There’s not many plumbers or electricians who are sent to be an ‘odd job man’ as soon as they get their final qualifications, or many teachers who take up a caretaker’s role the minute they’ve finished their training. 

From a care perspective of course, there’s no harm in spending some time with patients, practicing the art of patient care, making sure you have the stomach for some of the more unpleasant jobs, and ensuring you understand the complexity of ‘people’ issues that arise in such a role, and not just the medical ones. 

However I would hope that while you are training, a nurse gathers this level of experience as they go. This isn’t a ‘sit at a desk and type’ profession. This is an active, involved job, that surely requires a great deal of practical experience to even get through the first year of training, never mind achieve your final qualification.

Let’s not forget also that a year is a long time (although of course not as long as it was when I was 12 for some reason!). Surely in a year of not using all your training, not actively carrying out the medical duties that care assistants aren’t qualified to do, could knock the confidence or detrimentally affect the knowledge retention of newly qualified nurses? 

Is old Hunty boy suggesting that after a year, each nurse is then given a month’s refresher course to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything from their training? Cause I have to be honest, I wouldn’t be massively keen on a nurse administering drugs to me or a member of my family, without knowing the correct amount to use, or forgetting something important like where veins are, or how a stethoscope works, for example.

My limited knowledge of the profession here has possibly diluted the debate at hand somewhat, and I’m sure there are far more intricacies involved. But I think there has to be some sense in my ramblings.

Personally, I don’t have a view as to who is right or wrong here. I can see the points from both sides, and although I really want to stand on the side of the nurses whole-heartedly (they have the drugs), I can understand some of the measures the Government is suggesting. 

I just worry that the more something like this is debated, and the more problems at a place like Mid Staffs are discussed, the more untrusting people become about nurses, and I do feel very strongly that this shouldn’t be the case.

Nurses, doctors, midwives, paramedics, physios, in fact all those working in our health service, make sure we are cared for when we need it, that we have someone to hold our hands in difficult times, that someone understands our ailments and how to treat them. 

In my opinion, they are all simply wonderful. 

Of course people make mistakes. We are all human. The difference is, if I make a mistake at work, I misspell a word, or send a contentious press statement intended for my Chief Exec to an investigative journalist (true story). But realistically I can’t cause too much damage, and not many of us can. If a nurse makes a mistake, they can hurt someone, or even kill them. What a responsibility! 

But thank goodness for those people who are prepared to take that responsibility. To literally have our lives in their hands. day-in-day-out. Because if they weren’t there, what on earth would we do?  

Nursing is the caring profession, that for all technology’s advances, in every corner of the world, there are women and men working extremely hard to keep people alive, making sure they are comfortable and cared for while they’re lying in a hospital bed. In many ways the job they do is no different to that of legendary figures such as Florence Nightingale, but I would guess it’s a great deal harder these days than it was for Flo and the Gang.  There’s more pressure on nurses to keep up with paperwork, carry out more and more complicated procedures to free-up doctors’ time, and to train regularly to advance their knowledge and expertise. Not to mention keeping to an endless regime of health and safety, infection control, and a customer service role to help handle family enquiries, complaints and break bad news.

Whatever the final decision on the future of nursing, I hope the profession as a whole and the amazing people that work in it, don’t suffer for the mistakes of a few, and are supported by their representative body, and the Government to continue to do their job - perhaps minus some of the red tape and bureaucracy eh Mr Hunt?.

If you know a nurse, share this with them and let everyone else know how valued they are.

Dear Mrs Thatcher...

It’s not like me to be a political commentator really. I like to focus on much lighter,more simple subjects like children’s television, Christmas and snow. But on the passing of such an iconic figure in British and political history, I thought I’d have my ‘two-penneth’ - as my Uncle Bill would have said - about Margaret Thatcher.

I genuinely don’t have a political persuasion. I’ve always taken my right to vote, as I wouldn’t like to think of Emily Pankhurst and all her ankle-flashing pals tying themselves to railings for nothing. But I will vote on the policies and ideals of a party, and the character of their leader (bad news for Mr Milliband.)

I’m more than happy to tell you, I’ve voted three times (yes, I’m that young) and twice opted for the Red lot, most recently turning to the Blue persuasion. Living in a mining town, I whole heartedly now expect to find a load of eggs thrown at my door and a bag of coal left under my Nordman Spruce this Christmas. 

Despite austere times, I pretty much stand by my decision for the minute, as for me and my family, I can’t complain. I’m however rather fickle and could easily be swayed down the red or even yellow brick road by a cut in Corporation Tax or an end to Stamp Duty and a huge cash injection to the NHS – providing said manifesto was delivered by someone with slightly more gumption than a cabbage.

So when I heard the news of Margaret Thatcher’s death, I wasn’t in the celebratory Prescott-Scargill camp, and I wasn’t on the ‘she was a wonderful woman’ bandwagon either. I was simply sad. 

I wasn’t necessarily sad for the fact that she had died. Of course it is a sad occasion when anyone dies, but when you reach the age of 87, you have lived a long life, achieved a great deal, and when you move on to wherever you believe you’re going, your life should be celebrated.

I was sad for her family. Even before I saw the news on her death, I had already seen horrendous and disrespectful comments from, to be honest, people I thought better of. 

I understand that as a Prime Minister she polarised opinion. But she wasn’t a murderer, she didn’t abuse children, she never stole or attacked anyone, she wasn’t a terrorist or a dictator. Whatever her professional and political choices, views, decisions or actions, she was a mother. She was a grandmother, a sister, someone’s wife, a friend and a respected colleague to many. In essence, she was loved in life, and her memory and those who remember her, deserve respect and to be given time to grieve.

She will be remembered by many for shutting down the mines, for the Falklands War, as the ‘Iron Lady’ who set up the Community Charge (poll tax), and the one who narrowly escaped assassination at the hands of the IRA.

I’m not old enough to understand the intricacies of what happened during Thatcher’s Government, but I do know that she was the longest serving Prime Minister in the 20th Century – so someone liked her, because plenty of people kept voting for her.

I also know that she was a woman in a man’s world. She was a strong character, equaled the intellect and political standing of each man around her, and still managed to be the wife, mother and grandmother that her family will remember. 

I was speaking to a woman just last week who I’m writing a story on, and during our chat she mentioned how inspired she was by Margaret Thatcher. 

She works in the automotive industry, and started her career working as a mechanic for a race team. She has spent 16 years working in a man’s world – which I think it is safe to say, the automotive industry is – and told me very honestly that “it’s been bloody hard work at times”. 

She has had many situations where just her presence in a workshop has been questioned. She was even once offered a job as a secretary during an interview for a senior mechanic’s role – just because she was the only woman there.

Many people would have given up and taken that secretary’s job. But she told me that during the most difficult of situations, when sexual harassment was ‘par for the course’ and her opinion was often ignored by her colleagues, she would think of women like Thatcher - “if she could do it. I can.”

Anyone that knows me well, will know I’m the last person to champion feminism, or any bra-burning, Germaine Greer activity of any kind. But I have to say I agree with this statement wholeheartedly, and will do my best to instill that attitude in my daughter – as soon as we’ve got over the learning to eat without throwing it across the room bit!

I don’t regard anyone I work with as men and women – well I do obviously in the sense that some have boobs and some don’t – but I’ll respect anyone’s opinion, whether they be man, woman, dog or Forest fan. 

I think there’s still the attitude in management that if a woman is tough, hard-working, effective and focused, that she’s a bit of a bitch, or has no time for her family. When your equivalent man would undoubtedly be a hard-ass, business tycoon, with that ‘no messing’ sort of attitude that everyone respects. 

For me personally, Thatcher’s legacy will be the example she set for strong women, and if we look around us today, in the past 20 years we have seen more and more women standing out in business and politics. Of course they will have to ignore the ‘bitch’ comments for now, but let’s hope in time this perception will change.

Mrs T. She will be remembered, in whatever way. We all have the right to love her, hate her, or be indifferent. I think she’d be pleased to know she was the talking point in every workplace, pub and on every sofa across the country for one final time – whatever you were saying about her. 

I just hope that when her family remember her tomorrow, that the country will allow them that privilege.

See you Mags, give Denis our best.

Dear 2013: Dear Senna senior citizens

Dear 2013: Dear Senna senior citizens: In any profession you would generally value decades of experience.  You’d trust a doctor with 40 years’ experience over a young ‘whipper-sn...

Dear Senna senior citizens

In any profession you would generally value decades of experience. You’d trust a doctor with 40 years’ experience over a young ‘whipper-snapper’ who looks like they may still be at the Bunsen burner and frog dissection stage of their training. 

But I’m afraid when it comes to some things, experience isn’t always the most reassuring attribute - driving, for example.

If I hear someone has 20, even 30 years’ experience on the roads, I’d feel pretty safe in their hands. But as time passes on, and the decade odometer reaches a healthy four or five, then I believe something starts to happen.

Suddenly after forty confident driving years behind them, people start to lose their nerve. Maybe it’s because your reactions perhaps aren’t what they were, or because your pace of life is slowing, so everything you do slows (significantly), but it’s another one of those things about getting older that I just can’t wait for. 

I can only use personal points of reference, and although I feel it is unfair to generalise, I’m guessing most of you will know someone in their latter years who is quite literally a law unto themselves on the roads.

I found myself almost falling victim to a ‘geriatric person plough’ recently when making the fatal mistake of traversing the road at a zebra crossing. I can only thank my daughter for the fact that she was with me, as crossing the road is far more of an ordeal when you’re crossing with a pram. I probably look left and right about 20 times these days - far more than the Highway Code Hedgehog used to advise – to make sure when I step out with the pram ahead of me, that the two of us have safe passage. 

Waiting outside Nabbs shops – the mecca of retail in the North Hucknall area – I was stood at the Zebra crossing, looking left and right like an Abba tribute band on speed, when I made the adjudication that the cars approaching were slowing down to allow me to cross before they arrived at the crossing. 

Or were they?

Luckily I saw the make and model of one of the cars that was, although approaching slowly, not necessarily reducing in speed. The brand new ‘probably only got 69 miles on the clock’ Suzuki Wagon rang some ‘Motability’ alarm bells in my head, and I hesitated before crossing. 

Being the granddaughter of an elderly couple who have been accessing cars on the Government’s Motability scheme since God was a lad (well, a while anyway) I was acutely aware that some cars, like the Wagon, are almost solely dedicated for such schemes. These vehicles were surely the product of a rather disgruntled Suzuki design employee delivering a final blow, before handing in their resignation and pursuing some sort of tribunal.

There was a 98 percent probability that the driver of a Motability car was over the age of 70 and one of the following things was about to happen:

A – they would drive straight over the crossing, totally oblivious to me at the side of the road, any other road users, or in fact the road itself

B – They would suddenly realise what was happening, panic and attempt to slow down, while waving vigorously at me to apologise, and proceed to plough into the parked cars nearby.

Thankfully this old chap went for option A. I say thankfully, I wouldn’t have been so thankful had I actually crossed the road and trusted the judgement of the driver, as me and Erin would have almost certainly been hit. But as the Wagon sailed past us, I noted the man’s nose raised so high in the air to enable him to actually see over the steering wheel, hands at ten and two and totally ignoring the babbles of his wife, who had clearly just been to the hairdressers, proudly wearing her rain hood over her recently pruned three-inch perm. My suspicions confirmed.

Stood with my mouth gaping open at the utter disregard for the road, pedestrians or any other vehicles, I turned to the car behind to see a man around my dad’s age (young, very young obviously) shaking his head and rubbing his brow in relief, clearly expecting to have been peeling me and Erin from the bonnet of the Wagon at that point.

This incident made me realise that the only reason there aren’t more accidents with the over seventies is down to the awareness and reactions of everyone else.

And of course, it’s not always the activity on the open road. Almost certainly the primary target for the menacing ‘Senna senior citizen’ is the lined tarmac of a car park.

Over the years I have witnessed some rather interesting parking experiences either as a passenger or innocent bystander to my beloved grandparents (who I hope will forgive my indulgence), and it’s not just the parking itself that never ceases to amaze, it’s the reaction of the culprit. 

On a family day out to Center Parcs about five years ago, my Grandad was able to park practically in the reception area with his disability Blue Badge, while the rest of us parked fifteen miles away in a space the size of a Raleigh Chopper. 

As we all walked down towards reception, we could see that despite arriving five minutes before, my Grandad was still attempting to reverse a large Citroen Picasso into, an equally large disabled space, carefully indicated by a metal post. 

Every single jaw started to slowly drop as we watched my Grandad reverse (diagonally of course) as fast as someone on a Bond film driving over a body (just to make sure he’d definitely killed them) towards said metal post. 

Low and behold, we heard the ‘boing’ and watched the post wobble in the ground, as Grandad slammed his brakes on and parked, boot still touching the post. 

But the best bit was yet to come.

As he got out the car, my sister shouted “Bri” (we’ve always called him Bri rather than Grandad) “Bri…you just hit that post.” And despite the loud ‘boing’, the obvious crunch on the boot, and probably the bang that would have been felt in the car, his reaction was classic, “What post ducky?” 

Not a jar of glue. Neither of them, my Gran looked as shocked as he did.

They were either great actors, or just totally unaware of what had happened and the damage that had been caused. Brilliantly when informed of the ‘prang’, my Grandad didn’t even join my Dad and Uncle at the back of the car to mull over the damage like men like to do. Wasn’t bothered at all, was far too keen to have a cappuccino and a sit down. 

Not your first time Mr Shelbourne? I think not.

My Gran doesn’t escape here either I’m afraid. An expert ‘Senna senior citizen’, my Gran used to bounce off the fence outside our house as she did a three-point-turn, using it like a bumper lane at the bowling alley – I can’t isolate an incident, it was just something we became accustomed to after a while. However now the fence is gone, she manages fine without it!

There have also been many wing mirror incidents, alloys have shuddered with fear as they saw her approach, and she’s even scraped her entire left wing on her own garden wall. But thankfully, she’s never hurt herself or anyone else on the roads.

My grandparents I know are not alone. If you ever drive out on a Sunday, or around 11am on a weekday, you’ll undoubtedly have a slower journey as you trundle along behind a Ford Fiesta with a blue rinse or flat cap at the helm. 

But are these smaller things enough to deem the older generation ‘dangerous’ on the roads? Me and my husband have had countless conversations, while out in the car, that there should be some sort of ‘roadworthy’ test for the over seventies. Some would pass, but I’m sure many would fail. 

It seems sensible in a way, as you wouldn’t allow somebody with slower reactions to fly a Boeing 737, so why would you put somebody on a road, with far more traffic, if they can’t react quickly enough.

As a general rule, I think this plan makes sense. But then I think about the effect this would have on my own Gran. She can’t bear to be stuck at home, has never taken public transport anywhere, and sees her car as her freedom and independence. Take that away and you’re left with a lady who has to adjust, and at 75 it can’t be easy to change your lifestyle and routine.

It’s a quandary that, as a Government, I wouldn’t like to address (and they probably never would as the over-seventies probably make up the majority of voters), but is it something we should consider? Or could it cause more problems than it’s worth? 

Whatever your feelings on the subject, I would strongly advise you to always be alert when spotting a Suzuki Wagon trundling towards you, always park further away from the supermarket to keep your bumpers in tact, and never wave to my Gran if you spot her out driving - she wouldn’t see you if you were wearing a Neon sandwich board with the words “Hello Brenda” on them..and quite right, I’d much prefer her to keep her eyes on the road and hands at ten and two!

I dedicate this blog to all my favourite old folks, past and present.