Working as a mental health nurse in today's NHS drained me of compassion I found myself sighing when my patient rang me to say she was planning to kill herself. This is not the type of nurse I want to be.
Have you ever been spat at in a day’s work? I have. Have you ever been mooned at in a day’s work? No? Well, you’re obviously not a mental health nurse. In 1997 this was the best job in the world. As a newly qualified nurse I had time to develop therapeutic, trusting relationships with patients. The people I worked with in Hackney were very disturbed and had experienced the most severe deprivation throughout their lives. The very essence of my job as a nurse was to relate to the patients; to take time to listen, observe and be with them, no matter how sad or difficult this was.
For one patient, it took three months of sitting as near to her as I dared while she spat or pulled tongues at me. I patiently waited and at times talked calmly to her. One day she reached out and took hold of my name badge and read out my name. We both smiled. With time I had been able to go beyond the shouting, swearing and spitting to find a beautiful human being. There were days when she felt safe enough to take hold of my hand, or to sit next to me and cry. This made my job worthwhile. Continue reading... The Guardian
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