A duty to care
EVERY year health services across the state welcome large numbers of newly-graduated doctors, nurses and allied health professionals into their ranks.
Each year we orientate them to the health service, we talk about what we expect of them and our hopes and desires for them to learn, develop, grow and have long careers in healthcare.
Yesterday, when it was my turn to speak to some of our new graduates, I thought it important to tell them a story, a real story. My family’s story. Eighteen months ago, my wife and two children were expecting the birth of our third child. Late one day my wife started to become concerned that she hadn’t felt the baby move, when normally that time of day he was really active. Immediately, despite my protestations that everything was fine and that it would be OK, my heart sunk.
My wife rang the midwife and went into University Hospital Geelong, I stayed at home with our other children where the minutes seemed like hours, until I got the phone call that would change our lives forever: the doctors couldn’t find a heartbeat and we had lost the baby.
The next few days, between finding out we weren’t taking a baby home and when Percy was finally delivered at 32 weeks, was a mix of the worst and most clarifying days of my life. While there were so many people that cared for us, there are four key moments that stay with me.
The morning after we were admitted to hospital we were seen by doctors. The consultant who cared for us was amazing, kind and knowledgeable, but it wasn’t necessarily her that I remember, it was the junior doctor standing to the side. I can’t tell you her name, but I could see her, standing there slightly uncomfortable. She didn’t say a word, but her body language and the tears welling in her eyes said plenty.
Over the course of the coming days we would come to know the nurse manager of the ward well. She would pop in regularly to see how we were doing. In between her duties choreographing the many moving parts of an extremely busy maternity ward, she would take time out, she too would just sit on the side of the bed and talk, often sitting there sharing our tears.
This was OK, it was better than OK, it was normal.
Then there was our midwife who had known us since we first knew we were pregnant, clearly heavily invested in the delivery of a healthy and happy baby. To take on the role of supporting us through a process, where everyone anticipates the outcome, and when it’s not the one everyone hopes and dreams for, must be incredibly challenging.
Despite this, she stayed with us well past her shift change, she didn’t leave till Percy was born and my wife was OK. Her calmness and warmth made the most terrible of situations seem tolerable.
And, finally, one of my most vivid memories comes from one of the most unlikely sources.
Working in the same hospital in which we were being cared for, I wasn’t in the mood to bump into anyone I knew and explain why we were there. So each morning I would creep down to the cafe and order a coffee and a hot chocolate for my wife. After a few days the barista, noting a pattern, popped a heart-shaped chocolate on the top of my wife’s drink. She had no idea what was going on, but simply said: “I’m not sure what’s happening but something tells me someone might need this”.
This moment is probably the one that stuck with me the most, the ability of someone to read a situation, and do something so little that meant so much.
Prior to this happening, I considered myself a fierce patient advocate, always trying to progress change that made healthcare more accessible and meaningful for the patients we work with. But it was this life event that made me realise our community attends a hospital with an expectation of receiving care in a timely manner, by appropriately-skilled and knowledgeable staff.
What really makes a difference is the “care” they receive — the hellos, the introductions, the time taken to understand their concerns and, last but not least, the compassion we show as health professionals
As I read much about the impact of technological advancement in healthcare, the evolution of wearables or artificial intelligence, we need to always remember healthcare is first and foremost about the care and compassion we provide. This is the message I wanted to convey to the fresh faces entering our organisation. David Meade is Barwon Health’s director of allied health.