NURSING IS FULL OF LIFE LESSONS

In these trying times, our NHS has never been more important. Christie Watson, a nurse for more than 20 years, reflects on how she finds the courage to care

What the pandemic has taught NHS nurse Christie Watson

Very often, people will look at nurses and think: ‘I couldn’t do that’. But if someone is suffering, right there in front of you, the chances are you would forget about those doubts. You would dig deep, and you would help them.

You would find the courage to care. It’s not altruism; it’s human nature. After all, it has been proven that helping others makes us happy.

Nurses are not angels. We have flaws, worries and fears, like everyone else. We are complicated people made up of light and dark, trying to do the best we can.

Before nursing, I lived a life of chaos. Growing up on a council estate in Stevenage, between 13 and 16 I hung around with much older friends who were into low-level crime, often putting myself in dangerous situations.

However, throughout it all, I loved studying. My parents’ house was full of books, and I inherited my mum’s passion for reading. Even during my wayward years, I would devour philosophy books. I was thirsty for knowledge and spent a lot of time obsessing about what I would do in future. I was drawn to nursing because you never stop learning. No day is ever the same.

I began my training in mental health nursing, but switched to paediatrics after a placement in a child and adolescent psychiatric ward, which I absolutely loved. I went on to specialise in paediatric intensive care, a field I worked in for well over a decade. To be a part of that intense, amazing process of caring for those who are on the edge of life felt like such a profound and important thing to do.

STRENGTH AND SUPPORT

There is a calm about intensive care, even in the most desperate of circumstances, even on the busiest of days. It taught me the art of watching and listening. Nursing involves actions that appear simple from the outside, but are incredibly difficult. While holding a patient’s hand, a nurse is assessing every aspect of a life: mental, emotional, psychological and physical health. She is trying to capture the life in a snapshot, to understand what the person needs and how best to deliver it.

In my 20s, friends would obsess about their looks and weight but, working in intensive care, I was acutely aware of what a privilege it was to have a body that worked. It cultivated within me a desire to live in the now and appreciate every moment, knowing that anything can happen to any of us at any time.

From the outside, paediatric intensive care might seem absolutely tragic, and of course it can be. But the vast majority of children do get better. They possess an unbelievable power of resilience. That said, there is nobody who works in paediatric intensive care who doesn’t go home and hug their family that bit harder. It’s only natural.

Supporting families was probably the most difficult part of the job; helping them to understand the whirlwind of medical terms and treatment and how

to navigate their intense, ever-changing emotions. I don’t think you can really understand how vulnerable it feels to be those relatives who are agonising over loved ones until you’ve experienced the other side of this medical fence. For example, I find it hard to look at any male patient in his 60s without thinking of my own dad as he took his last breath. No matter how long ago the loss was, grief is always fresh. You can learn all the theory and be a brilliant health professional, but there is nothing quite

For Christie, caring for people who were on the edge of life felt profound like lived experience. Going through experiences, such as my dad’s death, has helped me to grow, both as a nurse and as a person.

My job is a constant reminder that in the end, family is really the only thing that matters. Having children definitely changed my outlook. When I was pregnant with my daughter, who is now 15, I was promoted to clinical educator and senior sister in the hospital I was working at. It meant a lot of juggling. I went back to work when she was five months old, a decision I agonised over.

My daughter’s dad, my ex-partner, was a paediatric intensive care consultant, which meant we were both working 12-hour shifts. I would drop her at nursery, worried and conflicted about leaving her, then arrive at the hospital to see babies around the same age who were very sick. To begin with, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Nursing has given me the gift of understanding the worst-case scenario in all things. But I also recognised anew the bravery and unconditional love that families have for their relatives. First with my daughter, and then a few years later when I adopted my son, I could see the pain these families go through with fresh eyes.

TIME AWAY FROM THE WARDS

In 2018, by now a single mum, I decided to come off the nursing register. I wanted time to focus on the more academic side of nursing – writing and teaching. Having time away from the wards allowed me to really reflect on my experiences, and finally begin to process everything I had witnessed. It’s the kind of job that does take a chunk of you over the years and, like all nurses, I probably developed unhealthy coping mechanisms, running largely on adrenaline. You can’t do this kind of job without understanding that there will be some very traumatic days that will stay with you forever. But the power of talking to friends, family and colleagues is an incredible thing, as is going for a walk in nature.

The single most important thing is it’s critical to care

BACK ON THE FRONTLINE

Just 18 months after I’d left the register, the national call came for nurses to return for the coronavirus crisis. I was reminded of a flight I took when there was an announcement asking if a doctor or nurse was on board. At first, I sat tight, but as the call-out got increasingly panicked, I knew I couldn’t ignore it. There comes a moment when you have to put your hand up if you’re in a position to do so.

I worked at the Nightingale Hospital in London in the first peak of Covid-19, as part of the Compassionate Care team. My role was about ensuring that compassionate care was at the heart of all we did, for patients, their families and for the staff, too. People talk about bravery during these times, but I did not feel brave. I felt fear and guilt that I might be exposing my children to the virus. Those were the most difficult weeks I’ve ever had in more than 20 years as a nurse.

I would come home each day and tell my children to shut themselves in their rooms while I put all my clothes into a hot wash, got straight into the shower, scrubbed myself from head to toe, then sprayed my keys and phone with disinfectant. Only then would I call them, so they could come out and hug me. It’s heartbreaking to think about how anxiety-provoking the situation is, particularly for children who watch the news and hear adult conversations they don’t quite understand. We are all living in a state of uncertainty. Unfortunately, this is not the beginning of the end; it’s only the end of the beginning. The situation can often feel completely overwhelming. It’s almost like a collective grief.

I have recently begun a new job as professor of medical and health humanities at the University of East Anglia, and I’m also writing a collection of narrative non-fiction essays. That’s the thing about nursing, it’s broader than hospital wards; it’s also schools, prisons and academia. I have learned that whatever type of nursing you do, the most important thing is that it is critical to care.

Without nursing, my own life could have gone in a very different direction. I assumed that hospitals were just a sanctuary for patients, but I have found they have been a sanctuary for me, too. When life gives me the greatest challenges, it is in nursing that I find the most answers, the most comfort, the most lessons. No, nurses are not angels. They are often funny, stoic, humble and self-deprecating. They remind me of who we are as human beings, and who we are meant to be. Most importantly, they are there. Always. • The Courage To Care (Chatto & Windus) by Christie Watson is out now

Nurses are not angels. They are often funny, stoic and humble