I chose to write about a disillusioned nurse in response to one of the activities (5.5) of my Open University degree. It’s just a short piece, but it is meant to convey her voice and her feelings.
Well, I suppose today is really an eventful day, and one that I should be really, really proud of; I know my mum and dad would be, if they were still alive that is. Twenty-five bloody years it’s taken me to get to the lofty heights of Matron err sorry ‘Clinical Nurse Manager’, as the bloody admin lot prefer. Now I’ve got a staff of fifty nurses under my charge. God help me at Xmas time when the usual fight for annual leave entitlement comes to fruition. Hey, come to think of it, I’m now responsible for one member of staff for every year that I’ve been on this Godforsaken planet. I really need to stop being so pessimistic, but I just can’t help it. Don’t get me wrong, I used to think that I was the luckiest woman on the planet when I first entered the nursing profession; the job was a real pleasure, and I used to love spending time with all the ‘old dears’ that came into A&E with their multicoloured hair colours; purple was definitely my favourite. I once thought of dying my poodle, Sam, that colour, but I’m fairly confident that she would have been horrified. Well she was a bit of a snob, you know! God bless her! OMG, my actually loving the job seems like an eternity ago now! Where is that enthusiastic, optimistic me? Where has she gone? The new administration in this hospital is driving me absolutely crackers: just how are my clinical nurse specialists, charge sisters, midwives, ward clerks and senior sisters supposed to care for patients, when they have to spend so much time filling in bloody paperwork. I thought that last week’s Clinicians’ meeting would have brought some common sense appraisals and interim workarounds, but apparently not. Bureaucracy who needs it? Oh well, only five years left and I can retire and think of what to spend the money on.’