Article
Care
Change
6 min read

Are we forgetting how to care?

The profound act at the heart of nursing.

Helen is a registered nurse and freelance writer, writing for audiences ranging from the general public to practitioners and scientists.

A nurse bends beside a bed and talks to a patient
Marie Curie.

Recently, at a nursing leadership programme in Oxford, attendees focused on the fundamentals of care.   Have we forgotten how to care? What can we re-learn from those who pioneered an ordinary yet profound act that affects millions? 

Anam Cara is an old Gaelic term for ‘soul friend’, a person with whom you can share your innermost self, your mind and your heart. It is a term that Tom Hill, former chief executive at Helen House Hospice in Oxford, used to describe the relationship between his staff and the thousands of children and their families who passed through their ‘big red door’ in its first twenty-five years. The hospice (or ‘loving respice’ as it became known) had been founded by Sister Frances Dominica in 1982.  

Other care in this country can also trace its religious roots. Between 1048 and 1070 in Jerusalem, the Order of St. John was founded for the purpose of helping pilgrims (“our Lords, The Sick”) who had become lost, weary, or beset by other difficulties while on their way to the Holy Land. Today, in the United Kingdom, the British Association of the Order has extended care to older people first in almshouses and later in care homes. A trustee for ten years was John Monckton, a man of ‘considerable talent, enormous integrity and deep religious conviction’; his tragic murder in 2004 led to the creation of the John Monckton Memorial Prize, which recognised and rightly celebrated commitment to care by care workers. 

Today, across the world, seen and unseen, nurses, carers and families continue to provide compassionate care. “Assisting individuals, sick or well, in the performance of those activities contributing to health or its recovery (or to peaceful death) that he would perform unaided if he had the necessary strength, will or knowledge” is the very essence of nursing, captured by ‘architect of nursing’, researcher and author Virginia Henderson in 1966. Meeting more than basic needs such as breathing, eating, drinking and eliminating bodily waste (which are of essential importance), Henderson recognised the role of the nurse in enabling humans to communicate with others, worship according to their faith, satisfy curiosity and sense accomplishment.  

In the desire for modernisation and professionalisation, have we lost sight of the core values and activities central to patient care?

An uncomfortable truth brought out in healthcare reports such as the Final Report of the Special Commission of Inquiry (The Garling Report) 2008, and the Report of the Mid Staffordshire NHS Foundation Trust Public Inquiry (The Francis Report) 2013 is though that this type of nursing is too often done badly or even missed, leading to pressure injury, medication errors, hospital-acquired  infection, falls, unplanned readmission, critical incidents and mortality. According to nurse scientist and scholar Professor Debra Jackson, “missed care occurs much more frequently than we might think”. She cites a systematic review in which ‘care left undone’ on the last shift ranged from 75 per cent in England, to 93 per cent in Germany, with an overall estimate of 88 per cent across 12 European countries’. 

In one offensively-titled paper, “Shitty nursing - the new normal?” (in which the authors apologise for the title but not the questions raised), real-life pen portraits are drawn of patients lying for hours on hospital trolleys, immobile through infection or injury, ignored by staff. Whilst acknowledging contextual factors for poor care, such as a shortage of nurses and resources, the authors argue that circumstances cannot be the sole cause of missed nursing care. 

A report published by the University of Adelaide, School of Nursing, has called for nurses to ‘reclaim and redefine’ the fundamentals of care. It asks whether the cause of the problem (of missed nursing care) lies “deep in the psyche of the nursing profession itself?” “Has something happened to the way modern nursing views and values caring?” it continues. “Indeed, is nursing in danger of losing its claim to care? In the desire for modernisation and professionalisation, have we lost sight of the core values and activities central to patient care? Or is this a broader social pattern where individuals are less inclined to show kindness, compassion, and care for others even if it is a necessary requirement of the job?” 

Compassion, he emphasises, is more than empathy - and way "less fluffy" but much more measurable than kindness. 

Writing in the British Medical Journal, Professor of critical care medicine Peter Brindley and Consultant in intensive care Matt Morgan wonder whether doctors also “too often default to high-tech and low-touch” when patients are dying – a time “when community and connection matter most”. They powerfully begin with a mother’s comment: “Humans are gardens to tend – not machines to fix.” 

Professor Sir Al Aynsley-Green, the first National Clinical Director for Children in Government and former Children’s Commissioner for England, and past president of the British Medical Association, suggests that we as a society need a “momentum for compassion”. Struck by the extremes of compassion witnessed during his wife’s treatment in the last years of her life, Sir Al wants to see a cultural transformation in healthcare: for compassion to be a key operating principle in NHS and care settings, led by the Chief Nurse’s Office; for every organisation to promote the importance of compassion at the professional level; for the views of patients and families to be sought regularly; for much earlier and better focus on compassion in undergraduate and postgraduate teaching programmes for all staff; for compassion to be inspected against by the Care Quality Commission; and for a willingness to encourage staff at all levels to expose poor practice as well as celebrating excellent care.  

Compassion, he emphasises, is more than empathy - and way "less fluffy" but much more measurable than kindness. “It’s putting yourself into somebody else’s shoes – and doing something about it.” Recently appointed the UK’s first Visiting Professor in Compassionate Care at Northampton University, at the age of 80, Sir Al certainly is doing something about it. He has made it his new purpose in life to “embed compassion into every aspect of care”.  

Like Sir Al, Queen Elizabeth II, the UK’s longest serving monarch, espoused compassion, in word and deed. Living a life of compassionate service, the Queen made clear that her Christian faith was her guiding principle. She speaks of Jesus Christ as ‘an inspiration,’ a ‘role model’ and ‘an anchor’. “Many will have been inspired by Jesus’ simple but powerful teaching,” she said in her Christmas Broadcast, 2000. “Love God and love thy neighbour as thyself – in other words, treat others as you would like them to treat you. His great emphasis was to give spirituality a practical purpose.”    

When nurses do unto others as they would have done unto themselves, and act as role model to colleagues, not only do patient experiences of care and their outcomes improve – but so does job satisfaction for nurses: a critical factor in nurse recruitment and retention – the biggest workforce challenge faced by healthcare organisations. Across the UK, there are currently more than 40,000 nursing vacancies, and thousands of burnt-out nurses are leaving the profession early. Whether nurses decide to stay or go is driven in part by their daily experience at work. The late Kate Granger, Consultant in medicine for older people, inspired Compassionate Care Awards in her name, envisioning that such a legacy would drive up standards in care - and surely also help retain nurses, through restoring a sense of pride, achievement and fulfilment to the nursing workforce.  

Snippet
Change
Mental Health
3 min read

When the seasons shift, so do we

Autumn brings beauty and melancholy in equal measure

Rachael is an author and theology of mental health specialist. 

 

 

A man walks a dog along a misty city park path.
Ekaterina Novitskaya on Unsplash.

In my house, the arrival of Autumn heralds two distinct emotions. My husband feels gloom settle upon him as the days draw in and a chill begins to sharpen the morning air, whilst I’m cheerfully pointing out the curling leaves beginning to change colour and admiring the beauty of an early-evening sunset.  

For me, there is something enchanting about autumn that feels even more of a ‘new year’ than January, but for my husband, it’s just a sign that winter is close and the summer holidays are a distant dream.  

Ten years in, we’ve learned how to tread lightly through the seasonal changes which provoke such contradicting emotions in us. I know the dark mornings aren’t easy for him, and he appreciates that heat makes me grumpy.  

And we aren’t alone in our strong feelings about the seasons changing. We all have preferences, but for some, the beginning of a new season may trigger illness, such as in the case of seasonal affective disorder (which, whilst most commonly suffered during the winter months, can affect people in the summer months instead).  

Ultimately, each season brings its own unique joys and sorrows, enjoyed by some and endured by others, but what’s important is that we accept these differences and find a way to connect through the changes.  

It’s something we see in the way the church journeys through the year, too. Sometimes called the liturgical year, as the seasons change, there is a focus on a different part of the story of scripture.  

Autumn is when harvest is celebrated, when we offer our thankfulness for the natural world and how it provides for every living thing.  

Whether meteorological or theological, following the rhythm of the seasons gives us the opportunity not just to celebrate together, but to learn how to suffer well and grieve together.  

In the church year, the times of celebration, like Christmas and Easter, are preceded by times of reflection and lament. Advent is characterised by the people of God waiting for the light of the world to break through the darkness, whilst Lent offers the chance to seek forgiveness and grieve over all that is wrong with the world and within us. These seasons trace the story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection - sometimes resonating with our own life seasons and at others contrasting painfully.  

In the Bible, there’s a book called Ecclesiastes, written by an unknown person referred to as Quohelet or ‘teacher’ and it talks about there being “a season for everything under the sun”, they assert that ‘There is … a time to be born and a time to die … a time to weep and a time to laugh.’  

It’s a reminder as we trace the seasons, that there is space in human life and faith for all of our emotions. We see it in the variety of emotions expressed not only in books like the Psalms, but in Jesus’ own life.  

And the ability to come together and mark these seasons before God, even when they differ from what we’re experiencing personally, is one that draws us together. It reminds us that through all the maelstrom of emotions and changes life brings that there is a drumbeat through every season: We are loved by God and out of that, we love one another.  

The changing of the seasons can evoke a multitude of memories and emotions, but if we let it, it can also act as a call to come together and be led by love. We can learn to do as the apostle Paul instructed the early Roman church to do: “Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.” 

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