Dear Jeremy Hunt: A Cannula Moment?
Dear Jeremy Hunt,
A Cannula Moment?
I know this Jeremy, as I have recently been discharged from Southampton General Hospital after emergency admission for the treatment of pneumonia. Over the seven days of incarceration, within three ward settings, I was privileged to meet Consultants, Doctors, Nurses, Health-Care Assistants, Porters, House-keepers, Cleaners, and Security Operatives from across the world, each of whom, without exception, acted with consummate professionalism and empathy, providing me with dignity in this period of vulnerability. Each used the metaphorical Cannula differently: some infused confidence and communication, others extracted only that which was necessary to understand my condition.
Jeremy, you might respond that you are well-aware of such circumstances, where individuals are constantly exceeding their contractual responsibilities and exhibit humanity and the highest standards of professionalism in all that they do. My sense is that whilst you might be aware of such goings-on in an abstract and strategic sense, you are so far removed from the actuality of this precious organism that is the NHS, that these conditions remain as mere concepts: incapable of measurement and/or quantification.
You remain blissfully unaware of the broken lock to the patient toilet and shower on Ward D6 that had been reported to maintenance 8 days before my admission and upon my discharge a week later, remained broken; with the consequential loss of patient dignity over15 days. You will not be aware of the retro-fit, un-ducted surface-fixed wiring solutions that provided a happy harbour for bugs on Ward E4. And of course you will remain unaware of the concerns of the young male staff-nurse from Portugal who openly shared a sense of being unwanted in his chosen home as a result of Brexit. His view was to perhaps return to where he may feel valued and respected: Portugal.
I have a sense that you are unaware of these colours, textures and nuances, as you continue to use the cannula to withdraw the fluids of the NHS. I might speculate why of course: to produce a sufficiently wizened corpse as a prime and cheap object of privatisation, or to ensure that public sympathy for the NHS reduces through frustration, to the point where we no longer have a sense of collective betterment, or, were I to be hugely cynical, would profer the view that you are deliberately making constructed space in which a new privatised health system can be introduced.
I thus prescribe for you a period of immersion within the NHS. Given your authority I am certain the you are able to effect an ‘under-cover boss’, admission to the system, for perhaps 48 in order to understand the actuality of that which you oversee.
You will of course need to be disguised as your face is on so many subconscious ‘wanted posters’ held in the hearts of NHS Staff. My greatest fear held on your behalf however, is that should management get wind of your arrival, you would be whisked away from the territory of we the great unwashed, into the realm of rather more exclusive healthcare facilities befitting your high office. Can I suggest that you visit the BBC makeup facility in the House of Commons that Boris visits each day to electrify his hair and you attend for your daily ‘jaw chiselling’ sessions. Here you might adopt an alter-ego.
Perhaps you might adopt the persona of Harry (name changed), in the bed to my right, a 93 year-old male, who was hospitalised after a fall whilst showering and now bed-blocking for a three-day period whilst Social Services arrange his home-care package.
Or perhaps that of Tom (name changed) in the bed to my left, an 82 year-old man admitted for heart-valve surgery, who, through comprehensive pre-opp investigations was further diagnosed with kidney issues that will be treated in parallel. Not the news he wanted but rest assured Mike was glad that ‘they caught it early’.
Such immersion might result in rather sleepless nights as you try and doze in the symphony of monitors and tripping infusion pumps. You might experience the vulnerability of being ‘done too’ every day, and wish your carers had more time to talk you through medical interventions. You will experience what it is to shower, urinate and defecate behind an unlocked door, where maintenance lacks the resources to provide the basic levels of privacy required in such circumstances.
Within your immersion you may even question the role of top-down management who provide signage of the top of black (domestic waste) bins that read:
‘Domestic Waste Only’. ‘In Case of Uncertainty Consult the SUHC Trust Refuse Policy’.
This is a world of farce where policy and protocol over-ride common-sense and effective and meaningful communication.
Within your eventual process of discharge you will receive advice, routes towards on-going support and care and a smile and a handshake that signifies a job well done, despite your best attentions Jeremy in utilising the cannula of evacuation.
This immersion may encourage you to reflect upon what could be were you to rethink you cannula responses.
What if you began to infuse rather that evacuate? You might begin by infusing trust in that these medical experts have a far-greater sense of that which is required, than Politicians and Civil-Servants, within the micro-bubble that is Whitehall and the body politic.
You might infuse a sense recognition that those that populate the NHS are valued in all that they do and are awarded appropriately.
You might infuse some honest conversations as to how the challenges that the NHS faces are to be resolved in the context of increasing demand.
You might infuse an encouragement of a bottom-up review of how services might be even more effective, that will inevitably result in less, not more, management.
And lastly you might infuse rather than evacuate resources: money, staff, restore bursaries for nurse training, and ensure that the NHS Estate is appropriately funded to allow bathroom door locks to repaired.
The NHS I experienced is drained of the fluids it requires. The NHS is in HDU, being kept alive only by those who staff it, in spite of your Cannula ministrations. This letter invites you to immerse yourself and recalibrate your responses.
In closing I hope that you seize upon this opportunity to at least momentarily, remove yourself from strategies and abstract thinking, and really understand the complexities and nuances of this incredible organisation for which you hold the ultimate responsibility, and to seek new responses to health care that recognise contemporary demands.
Thanks to excellent care, my pneumonia abates, and I slowly recover: all delivered by knowing, thought and caring manipulation of the Cannula. There lies your potential Jeremy: to infuse rather than evacuate.
I live in hope.
Roger Tyrrell Age 611/6th
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