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“Where am I?” shouts a croaking voice from the other side of the room. “You’re in the hospital,” another replies. A beat. “Where am I?” The nurse looks at me and holds a needle ready to insert an IV drip into my arm. It’s about 2 o’clock and I can see her assess: which patient is most important? “I wet myself,” the voice says. He wins. I had been in the hospital for three nights and four days by this time where I had received treatment for a surprisingly minor ailment. I do not know the names of my parishioners or what brought them here. But I know what they look like naked from behind while wearing only a hospital gown; and how they sound when they snore, throw up and cry. I even know how much bile and vomit you managed to produce in just 24 hours (quite a lot). A patient ate a jelly cup just hours before his surgery was to be held. When he was told it had to be postponed, he asked if he could get some more jelly. He could not. Another insisted he was at level “10” pain throughout his stay. Ten is the most severe, extreme pain, a nurse explained. Yep, still a 10. His lovely partner stayed by his side as much as possible. A nurse explained to her that she could press a large green button to call for help. Ding. Ding. No, not now, said the nurse with a small edge to her otherwise very effervescent voice. I have spent some time in hospitals, but I am usually too ill or stunned to fully understand my surroundings. It’s a blessing, I realize now. OTHER READINGS: After seeing – and smelling – what a nurse has to deal with, I promise to compliment the clothes on every nurse I met. Or hair. And if their outfit is awful and they are bald, I’ll just scan my body down until I find something. Despite the fact that they seem exhausted, health professionals in my department manage small benefits. I hear nurses chirping and gargling; doctors comfort and explain. There are plenty of small sympathies. Gentle caresses of the hand. A cheesy joke. This is especially admirable given the reputation that Canberra hospitals have of “toxic” workplace cultures. Some senior workers seem to have forgotten that the goal of medicine is patient care, not to obscure young doctors. 104 investigations were conducted against employees for bullying or harassment in the financial year 2019-20, an increase of 60 percent compared to the period before. A 2020 report showed that younger Canberra doctors were the most likely in the country to be bullied, and 41 percent said they had witnessed or experienced it. Younger doctors at ACT worked longer than anyone else in the country, and a November report this year said bullying had not stopped. The system also does not have the best reputation among patients. In 2020, a report from the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare found that the ACT had a longer emergency waiting time than any other jurisdiction. It said 48 percent of Canberra patients were seen on time in 2019-20, compared to a national average of 74 percent. MORE NEWS: As I walked past windows overlooking the construction work outside, it struck me how cramped it felt compared to other hospitals I have been to. Nurses kept stumbling over chairs in tiny rooms; Blurred doctors buzz around and look distracted and stressed. My own discharge was messed up when a doctor forgot to tell nurses I was going home and another registry decided to keep me inside – before they realized they were reading the wrong patient’s notes. When I finally got the green light, I cut off my hospital bracelet and walked away so someone had to change their mind. As I fled through the corridors, I noticed Respect Our Staff posters. A head image of a photogenic blonde said something along the lines of, “I’m more than just a radiologist. I’m also a … Snowboarder. Volunteer. Aunt.” This lady works in healthcare and still has time to snowboard and volunteer? I hope she refers to her unpaid overtime. For reference, I am more than just a reporter. I’m also a … Chocolate lover. Netflix is watching. Sleep-in-is-is. Readers, please remember this the next time you email me “feedback”. We should not need to remind patients to show kindness to the people who are trying to save their lives and relieve their pain. Yes, the system is frustrating. But from birth to death, doctors and nurses mark the milestones in our lives. The least we can do is keep our hands off hospital jelly when we are told to. And if necessary, point one foot out. Everyone loves a compliment. Our journalists work hard to deliver local, up-to-date news to the community. Here’s how you can continue to access our trusted content:
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“Where am I?” shouts a croaking voice from the other side of the room.
“You’re in the hospital,” another replies.
The nurse looks at me and holds a needle ready to insert an IV drip into my arm. It’s about 2 o’clock and I can see her assess: which patient is most important?
“I wet myself,” the voice says. He wins.
I had been in the hospital for three nights and four days by this time where I had received treatment for a surprisingly minor ailment.
I do not know the names of my parishioners or what brought them here. But I know what they look like naked from behind while wearing only a hospital gown; and how they sound when they snore, throw up and cry. I even know how much bile and vomit you managed to produce in just 24 hours (quite a lot).
A sleeping girl in a hospital bed. Photo: Lanie Tindale
A patient ate a jelly cup just hours before his surgery was to be held. When he was told it had to be postponed, he asked if he could get some more jelly. He could not.
Another insisted he was at level “10” pain throughout his stay. Ten is the most severe, extreme pain, explained a nurse. Yep, still a 10. His lovely partner stayed by his side as much as possible. A nurse explained to her that she could press a large green button to call for help. Ding. Ding. No not now, said the nurse with a small edge to her otherwise very effervescent voice.
I have spent some time in hospitals, but I am usually too ill or stunned to fully understand my surroundings. It’s a blessing, I realize now.
After seeing – and smelling – what a nurse has to deal with, I promise to compliment the clothes on every nurse I met. Or hair. And if their outfit is awful and they are bald, I’ll just scan my body down until I find something.
Despite the fact that they seem exhausted, health professionals in my department manage small benefits. I hear nurses chirping and gargling; doctors comfort and explain. There are plenty of small sympathies. Gentle caresses of the hand. A cheesy joke.
This is especially admirable given the reputation that Canberra hospitals have of “toxic” workplace cultures. Some senior workers seem to have forgotten that the goal of medicine is patient care, not to obscure young doctors.
Hospital bed waiting for a patient. Photo: Lanie Tindale
The system also does not have the best reputation among patients.
As I walked past windows overlooking the construction work outside, it struck me how cramped it felt compared to other hospitals I have been to. Nurses kept stumbling over chairs in small rooms; Blurred doctors buzz around and look distracted and stressed.
My own discharge was messed up when a doctor forgot to tell nurses I was going home and another registry decided to keep me inside – before they realized they were reading the wrong patient’s notes. When I finally got the green light, I cut off my hospital bracelet and walked away so someone had to change their mind.
The all-important TV remote control and nurse call button. Photo: Lanie Tindale
As I fled through the corridors, I noticed it Respect our staff posters.
A head image of a photogenic blonde said something along the lines of, “I’m more than just a radiologist. I’m also a … Snowboarder. Volunteer. Aunt.”
This lady works in healthcare and still has time to snowboard and volunteer? I hope she refers to her unpaid overtime.
A poster with respect for our staff. Photo: Lanie Tindale
For reference, I am more than just a reporter. I’m also a … Chocolate lover. Netflix is watching. Sleep-in-is-is. Readers, please remember this the next time you email me “feedback”.
We should not need to remind patients to show kindness to the people who are trying to save their lives and relieve their pain. Yes, the system is frustrating. But from birth to death, doctors and nurses mark the milestones in our lives.
The least we can do is keep our hands off hospital jelly when we are told to. And if necessary, point one foot out. Everyone loves a compliment.
Our journalists work hard to deliver local, up-to-date news to the community. Here’s how you can continue to access our trusted content:
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