This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/society/2018/nov/08/quit-job-resented-patients-got-better-cancer
The article has changed 3 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| I had to quit my hospital job when I resented patients who got better | I had to quit my hospital job when I resented patients who got better |
| (25 days later) | |
| Working in waiting list administration can bring its fair share of bad days. Bed shortages, disgruntled patients, irritated clinicians and cancellations make the job a fast-paced, high-pressure juggling act. I’d worked in a waiting list office for four years, booking thousands of outpatient endoscopic tests, and thrived on the chaos. That was until 5 June 2012, when I encountered my worst day at work when my mum was diagnosed with cancer in my department. | Working in waiting list administration can bring its fair share of bad days. Bed shortages, disgruntled patients, irritated clinicians and cancellations make the job a fast-paced, high-pressure juggling act. I’d worked in a waiting list office for four years, booking thousands of outpatient endoscopic tests, and thrived on the chaos. That was until 5 June 2012, when I encountered my worst day at work when my mum was diagnosed with cancer in my department. |
| Mum had been suffering from stubborn indigestion for a few months which wasn’t eased by medication. She’d lost a little weight and was lethargic but downplayed her symptoms. I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that something was seriously wrong so I pressed her to go back to the GP to seek a referral to endoscopy, partly for my own peace of mind. | Mum had been suffering from stubborn indigestion for a few months which wasn’t eased by medication. She’d lost a little weight and was lethargic but downplayed her symptoms. I couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that something was seriously wrong so I pressed her to go back to the GP to seek a referral to endoscopy, partly for my own peace of mind. |
| My husband's stroke showed me the best and worst of the NHS | |
| On the day of the procedure I was distracted and unable to focus on work. I met my parents at the clinic reception and handed mum over to the nurses like a nervous parent leaving their child at school for the first time. I was anxious because my brain could only envisage worst-case scenarios. | On the day of the procedure I was distracted and unable to focus on work. I met my parents at the clinic reception and handed mum over to the nurses like a nervous parent leaving their child at school for the first time. I was anxious because my brain could only envisage worst-case scenarios. |
| The procedure normally takes 15 minutes and mum should have been ready to go home within an hour of arriving at the hospital. An hour passed with no word from the nurses, who’d promised to call when the endoscopy was finished. The long wait caused me to panic and burst into tears at my desk, which was completely out of character. Eventually I received the call to let me know mum was in recovery and was waiting on the consultant to come and talk to her. | The procedure normally takes 15 minutes and mum should have been ready to go home within an hour of arriving at the hospital. An hour passed with no word from the nurses, who’d promised to call when the endoscopy was finished. The long wait caused me to panic and burst into tears at my desk, which was completely out of character. Eventually I received the call to let me know mum was in recovery and was waiting on the consultant to come and talk to her. |
| When we sat down with the consultant, he told her she had an oesophageal tumour; he broke it so gently it took a while for mum to register the bad news. I held her hand as the doctor explained the next steps. Watching my worst nightmare unfold, I studied the consultant’s face and wondered how many times he’d said these words and if it ever got easier. I thought of all the patients I booked who’d sat where we were and my heart ached for them. | When we sat down with the consultant, he told her she had an oesophageal tumour; he broke it so gently it took a while for mum to register the bad news. I held her hand as the doctor explained the next steps. Watching my worst nightmare unfold, I studied the consultant’s face and wondered how many times he’d said these words and if it ever got easier. I thought of all the patients I booked who’d sat where we were and my heart ached for them. |
| I was jealous of those patients and families who had good news when all we’d left the hospital with was a death sentence | I was jealous of those patients and families who had good news when all we’d left the hospital with was a death sentence |
| I held myself together until my parents were at the car park, and then broke down on the way back to my office. My brain switched into problem-solving mode and I made plans to take time off so I could attend the hospital appointments, while trying to ignore the typically poor prognosis for patients with oesophageal cancer. | I held myself together until my parents were at the car park, and then broke down on the way back to my office. My brain switched into problem-solving mode and I made plans to take time off so I could attend the hospital appointments, while trying to ignore the typically poor prognosis for patients with oesophageal cancer. |
| We discovered 10 days after the endoscopy that mum had a rare, aggressive tumour with widespread metastases. Another consultant carefully explained that even with palliative chemotherapy, life would measured in months, not years. | We discovered 10 days after the endoscopy that mum had a rare, aggressive tumour with widespread metastases. Another consultant carefully explained that even with palliative chemotherapy, life would measured in months, not years. |
| For the first time in four years I understood what patients and their loved ones experience when they’re given bad news. So many of the patients I spoke to were apprehensive about coming to hospital – nervous about the examination itself and terrified of a potential cancer diagnosis. I remained relaxed and positive when calling to book appointments because I knew most of the people who passed through the department were given the all-clear. After that fateful day I wondered if I’d given some patients false hope with my naive optimism. | For the first time in four years I understood what patients and their loved ones experience when they’re given bad news. So many of the patients I spoke to were apprehensive about coming to hospital – nervous about the examination itself and terrified of a potential cancer diagnosis. I remained relaxed and positive when calling to book appointments because I knew most of the people who passed through the department were given the all-clear. After that fateful day I wondered if I’d given some patients false hope with my naive optimism. |
| Mum opted for gruelling chemotherapy in an attempt to prolong the time she had left. The job I loved became the least important aspect of my life. Before, when I’d experienced strain in my personal life work had been a welcome distraction, but now every day I’d re-live the trauma of mum receiving her diagnosis. I was trapped in a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. My brain struggled to compute a seemingly healthy 58-year-old having indigestion one day and terminal cancer the next. | Mum opted for gruelling chemotherapy in an attempt to prolong the time she had left. The job I loved became the least important aspect of my life. Before, when I’d experienced strain in my personal life work had been a welcome distraction, but now every day I’d re-live the trauma of mum receiving her diagnosis. I was trapped in a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. My brain struggled to compute a seemingly healthy 58-year-old having indigestion one day and terminal cancer the next. |
| Sign up for Society Weekly: our newsletter for public service professionals | |
| At work I had a reputation for my expertise and calm nature but after mum got sick I suffered from terrible mood swings, lacked focus and made stupid errors. I was angry and bitter, and at my lowest ebb I even resented patients who received the all-clear from their endoscopies. I was jealous of those patients and families who had good news to celebrate when all we’d left the hospital with was despair and a death sentence. I found myself crying at work when I found out another patient was given the same terrible news as mum. It became overwhelming and I needed to move on. | At work I had a reputation for my expertise and calm nature but after mum got sick I suffered from terrible mood swings, lacked focus and made stupid errors. I was angry and bitter, and at my lowest ebb I even resented patients who received the all-clear from their endoscopies. I was jealous of those patients and families who had good news to celebrate when all we’d left the hospital with was despair and a death sentence. I found myself crying at work when I found out another patient was given the same terrible news as mum. It became overwhelming and I needed to move on. |
| After mum died I left hospital administration to work for a national healthcare agency, because a patient-facing role was too tough. I still think of my old department and patients often. Once you’ve witnessed the worst-case scenario become reality it’s a difficult thing to forget. | After mum died I left hospital administration to work for a national healthcare agency, because a patient-facing role was too tough. I still think of my old department and patients often. Once you’ve witnessed the worst-case scenario become reality it’s a difficult thing to forget. |
| If you would like to contribute to our Blood, sweat and tears series about experiences in healthcare, read our guidelines and get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com | If you would like to contribute to our Blood, sweat and tears series about experiences in healthcare, read our guidelines and get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com |
| Society | Society |
| Blood, sweat and tears | Blood, sweat and tears |
| NHS | NHS |
| Health | Health |
| Cancer | Cancer |
| Death and dying | Death and dying |
| Careers | Careers |
| Work & careers | Work & careers |
| comment | comment |
| Share on Facebook | Share on Facebook |
| Share on Twitter | Share on Twitter |
| Share via Email | Share via Email |
| Share on LinkedIn | Share on LinkedIn |
| Share on Pinterest | Share on Pinterest |
| Share on Google+ | Share on Google+ |
| Share on WhatsApp | Share on WhatsApp |
| Share on Messenger | Share on Messenger |
| Reuse this content | Reuse this content |