9.00am Sunday 3nd February. I knew I'd be receiving visitors later that morning. My dear friend Hanna was coming to visit from Milton Keynes with her friend Martin. My phone battery was flat and the charger was plugged into a socket to my right, out of sight and out of reach. A friend had used it the night before and had forgotten to plug it to my left, where it could easily hang over the back of my bed. I was still immobile after my surgery 2 days before. I couldn’t see or reach my charger. I did the only thing I could, I buzzed for nurse.
To my utter surprise and despair ‘Scary Nurse Joanne’ opened my door and came into my room. She turned off the buzzer and made back towards the door. “What!” she barked.
Oh here we go, I thought to myself. I wonder what will happen now?
"Good morning" I replied, "Please, can you see my charger plugged on the wall to my right?" "No!" snapped Joanne with unmoving facial features. I was then confused because I knew this was where my friend had plugged it. I couldn't turn to see so I wondered where it had gone. I asked Joanne again if she couldn't see a charger plugged anywhere behind me. Joanne replied that she could see a charger but there was no cable attached. At least that's something I thought to myself "Oh okay, would you be able to pass me the charger?" Joanne glared at me "No I will not!" she retorted.
I was simply shocked but in that split second something inside me snapped. Despite being vulnerable and unable to move, a fusion of anger and frustration bubbled up inside me. It unleashed itself sharply into the air in the form of words. "If you're going to be like that just get out of my room! If you don't want to help sick people, go get another job!" The fire in my belly had lashed back at her, and with that Joanne beat a hasty retreat slamming the door as she left.
I still had no phone charger and wondered what to do, but just five minutes later a lady delivering fresh jugs of water came into my room. She seemed humble and quiet, very lowly, never meeting my gaze despite my thanks. Before she could leave, once more I followed my gut instincts and spoke. "Excuse me Ma'am, can you see a phone charger on the wall anywhere?" The lady said nothing. She simply walked to the right of me to the charger, unplugged it with the cable attached, took it to my left, plugged it in and draped the cable over my pillow so that I could reach it. Then she went one step further, she took my phone and plugged it in for me. I was completely astounded! I thanked the lady, so earnestly relived and grateful. "That's okay" she said gently, wheeling her trolley of fresh water away with her.
I was bemused. This lady was not a nurse, yet she had helped me so entirely. I vowed to report Joanne and to let her know that I was going to report her. When the next nurse came into my room to change my drip, I described Joanne and asked for her name. The nurse told me her first name but refused to tell me her surname. I told my nurse to please let Joanne know that I was going to report her. My nurse looked uncomfortable about this as she left my room. Was she uncomfortable about speaking to Joanne or was she pulling ranks? I couldn't tell but I wasn't going to let it lie.
When my nurse came back to administer my meds, I asked if she had delivered my message. She admitted that she had not. "Listen," I implored "Are you afraid of her? Please don't be afraid of any one. Fear no one but your God. Just speak on my behalf or you can call her here and I'll tell her myself" My nurse suddenly looked more confident "I'm not afraid" she declared. "I will tell her". When she left my room with my door ajar. I heard her speak her truth just outside my room "Joanne, this patient is complaining about you." she said and simply left it at that.
Soon, my visitors began to arrive. Hannah and Martin cheered me up beautifully with their sparkles of laughter and and bubbly energy. When they had left, my friends Andy and Steve messaged that they were buzzing at the ward entrance but no nurses were there to let them in. I decided to help...by buzzing for a nurse. My lovely friends soon walked into my room. They were followed by Nurse Joanne.
"I told you not to come back to my room Joanne"
I said firmly fixing her unwaveringly with my eyes. My friends stopped still and took notice, not quite what they were taking notice of. "If you buzz I have to answer." retorted Joanne turning off my buzzer. Fair enough I thought to myself but something inside me told me that answering my buzzer would now be her favourite game to annoy me. "What's your surname Joanne?" I asked. She told me and defiantly asked me if I wanted her to spell it for me. "No need." I replied calmly, "Please leave."
My friends Andy and Steve ladened me with all sorts of classy, yummy goodies, most of which I wouldn't be able to eat for many weeks to come. They settled me with a glossy perfumed copy of Vogue Magazine. (Too ill to read it yet I later noticed that it had black models in it. I was impressed!) Once settled, they asked me what the "thing" with the nurse was about. I wove my tale and they listened quietly. Seeing that the woman had both frightened and frustrated me, they then gave me a brilliant piece of advice. They advised me to simply write down the events accurately as soon as possible so I could and set it aside and rest without being agitated. This way I could just focus on my recovery without angry thoughts of Joanne stewing inside me. Their great advise not only calmed my uneasiness, but is also the reason that I can now provide such an accurate account.
Before we tossed the topic of Joanne aside, they vocalised one of my niggling concerns "What if she's doing that to old frail people who have no friends or family?" I felt a chill run through me. The thought of Joanne treating old and truly vulnerable patients that way made me shudder. I vowed once more to report her.
I did not see Joanne again for some days, then one late night, I needed to go to the toilet. I wasn't yet physically able to walk, so I rang my buzzer, much in need of a commode. To my surprise my door was opened by Joanne "Good afternooooon" announced Joanne in her best queens English. I was surprised and couldn't help it, I burst into laughter. It wasn't just about the way she spoke. It was also that it was pitch dark outside. Joanne looked at me confused by my laughing response. "Well Joanne, you just said good afternoon but it's about 2am right now." She shook her head as if to clear a mental fog and then almost smiled at her own mistake. She brought me a commode very promptly. She even brought tissues and hand sanitiser. To say that I was surprised by this, would be an understatement. She asked if I could manage to get out of bed on my own. I affirmed that I could. She told me to buzz her when I was done and she would help me back to bed. Back in bed I stared flabbergasted into the dimness of my room. How strange the turn around in Joanne the Vile!
Joanne visited my room again the next night "Good moooorning" she announced again in her best English. It was around 11pm at night. Of course I burst out laughing again. "It's nighttime" I corrected her pointing to the blackness outside my window. This time she laughed too. As Joanne busied herself with my meds and drip, she explained that she mostly worked night shifts which ultimately resulted in her not really knowing what time of day it was. She would make mistakes with knowing whether it was morning, afternoon or evening.
Now, as you all know, I love a good story and I know how to gently draw them out of people. I love to listen and I know that people love to talk about themselves, so I gently began to probe. I simply asked this question; did she find working nights difficult? Joanne opened up instantly.
On the contrary. She didn't find night shift difficult. Joanne explained that she loved working nights best of all! She would go home in the small hours and cook when no one was up, she'd then watch some TV and sleep through the day (Internally I wondered if she had been so mean before, because she was working the less favourable day shift). I discovered that she had a child and a husband who had been adopted as a child. She and her husband were both from the West Indies. She loved her cultural food but he did not as he was 'disconnected' from his ethnic background having been adopted to white parents. She revealed that she made it her duty, to occasionally sneak their cultural foods into his diet and he would enjoy it. Joanne loved to travel to the West Indies for holidays and would take her reluctant husband along with her. He would then really love re-connecting to his roots. Joanne shared that she was looking forward to going Ghana soon their next vacation. From now on, she wanted all her next travel destinations to be West Africa as she knew this was their true origins.
Well wow! Knock me over with a feather! I had emboldened Joanne's story-telling with the most minimal of encouragement...and just like that Joannes attitude towards me was forever changed.
I was, and still am, bemused.
After that week I would never see Nurse Joanne again. We remained on civil terms through out that week. She did her job well and seemed to have let go of her scathing behaviour.
Yet, when I reflect, I will forever remain shocked at how Joanne had treated me and then even more stumped at how I had somehow managed to turn her around...or did I?
My concerns remain to dog me. Will Joanne be forever changed or will she still treat other patients unkindly? If she does, would they dare to challenge her behaviour or would they remain gripped in an uncomfortable shadow of fear and frustration? Did she have a realisation and truly change, or did she modify her behaviour so that I wouldn't report her?
My encounter with Joanne still travels the circuits of my mind with the question that perhaps you, my readers can help me with;
Shall I report her?
If you would like more information on how to report poor care or poor nursing practice within the NHS please see the following links;
