I’m currently enduring my fourth hospitalisation in nine months – again as a result of a chest infection. The nature of my condition is such that I have a weakened cough mechanism so find it very hard to remove the ‘gunk’ that accumulates with any respiratory infection. This leads to pneumonia, and indeed it is likely to be pneumonia that ‘does for me’ in due course.
This has been an odd hospitalisation in that I haven’t been particularly ill (except for one dramatic moment) but I have struggled to keep on top of the ‘gunk’ which, amongst other things, wraps itself round my vocal chords, leaving me totally mute. In an environment where it is hard to get staff to listen to what you are saying anyway, doing it with no voice is nigh on impossible. I have taken to typing on my phone what I need, which has worked out ok although sometimes with bizarre outcomes. Some people seem to think that because I can’t talk I can’t hear either and have written their replies on paper for me to read or have conducted strange charades to illustrate what they want to say. I have developed my own sign language for things like ‘spit bowl’ and ‘please lower the table to this level’ and, courtesy of several days of being mute, now have a library of pre-written requests to whip out in an emergency. ‘I’m having difficulty breathing’? – wait, that’s in here somewhere!
Apart from the charades, one particularly surreal moment came when a woman appeared in my room to ask if I would like someone to come and sing a song for me. The singer plus guitar was rather good and I was serenaded with numbers by Chuck Berry and The Mamas & the Papas before she wandered away to find another niche audience to perform to.
Not long after that a trio of newbie medical students shuffled in, brimming with self-consciousness, to ask if I would mind chatting with them. It was their first day on the wards and they had obviously been sent off on a mission to develop their bedside manner. It might have been better if they had agreed beforehand on a subject that might lead to a conversation rather than firing random questions such as ‘how have you enjoyed your stay in hospital?’ ‘what hobbies do you have?’ and ‘what’s the average rainfall in the Amazon basin?’. After a while I decided it might be better if I interviewed them, which brought me full circle as I asked them what they believe is the most important skill for a doctor to develop to which they gave a range of answers. They were noticeably more comfortable in interview mode.
For me, the most important skill for every health care professional is to listen and respond according to what the patient is saying, not what you think they ought to be saying or indeed to disregard the patient’s view altogether.
I have had some excellent carers in hospital, and some poor ones too. The poor ones tell me what I need to do and the good ones listen to what I think should happen (or read what I have written!) and we agree together what I need to do.
I may not have complete insight into the situation and I certainly have little medical knowledge, but I am the person occupying this husk of a body and I believe my view is worth taking into consideration.
Which reminds me of a friend of mine who became chief executive of a well known charity. It was his first direct experience of working in a charity and the culture-shift from the command and control environment he had come from was profound. He was diligent and visited the charity’s operations up and down the country before he set out his manifesto of the change that was needed. He commented to me, some months later as the debate about his insights raged, ‘this is the first organisation I have worked in where the chief executive’s opinions are treated as an ‘interesting perspective’ rather than what we are going to do’. 😂
Thanks, Ian. Sad, humbling, inciteful. Never dull, irrelevant or self-pitying.
That last line is a classic.
Your written voice conveys so very well the tight spot you find yourself in, so it’s incredibly reassuring to hear that the cheer you have always had is still with you and indeed shines ever brighter.
Thanks Duncan. It was so good to see you last week
I am imagining you being serenaded in hospital …. I did get an ice lolly on a very hot day in hospital but no one came to sing to me!! And those medical students ….. such a powerful encounter and one that hopefully got them thinking …. Very insightful. Big love to you Ian 😘
Ian you are an inspiration to so many. I’m looking forward to reading your book xxx
I fear the book will never be. I don’t have what it takes 😢
I didn’t see your reply Ian when I put my comment ‘me too’. You sort have written a book already with all your blogs xx
Yeah, I think that too!
Me too
Your blogs are so insightful, Ian, I learn a lot from reading them. I wish the health care professionals had access to them too. You make really valid points about how the person at the centre has a voice that should be listened to (a written voice as well as a spoken one, or indeed by whatever means). It’s hard for medical students starting out and they need to learn to understand things from the patient’s perspective. It would be a valuable lesson to them as they are just starting out. I wish that your voice could be heard widely so that all the health care professionals could learn from your experience, always so articulately expressed.
Thanks Amanda. Maybe every medical student ought to contract some illness which needs a hospital stay, before they start their training!
That’s an excellent thought!
Thx Ian…it is always a joy when your humour has me giggling in my seat…thinking of you and appreciate you keeping us up-to-date….love an prayers to u n Sal. Hugs from NYorkshire!
I love your blogs Ian…. Only just worked out how to respond!🤦🏻.
When I was in hospital during my chemo stay, I had lost my voice for about 6 weeks. I was in a side room, being barrier nursed, so when anyone knocked on the door I could not say come in or wait! It either meant I got no food or tea, or they burst in while I was on the commode!
It may be that you were meant to be there to make an impression on those medical students, that they might take to heart. Well done for turning the conversation around!
Hope you get home soon. Love to Sally. ❤️❤️
Bloomin commodes. They are my greatest bug bear.
Good to hear from you, Ian. It must be a particularly difficult time of year for these horrible chest infections you are now prone to. I hope the hospitalisations won’t be required as Spring arrives.
I enjoyed the anecdote in your final paragraph! I have been a trustee at Oxfam GB these last four years, and your friend’s experiences have a familiar ring to them. But there is of course also an upside to a staff team who feel such a huge commitment to the cause if the right leadership climate can be created. Easier said than done.
Sending my very best wishes to you and Sally
Thanks Andrew. Yes, you are right. Buy-in to the cause can be powerful, but it can also stifle innovation, especially if the trustees have been around for a long time.
Ian, I think I know that friend of yours. Wasn’t he the one you encouraged to keep using the word ‘productivity’ (despite it appalling some of the workforce) in urging greater effectiveness in their work with children?
Your ability to write in such a compelling and often very funny way when describing some immense personal challenges seems unabated. You’re a remarkable man.
Maybe!