The NHS saved my life once, and inspired me to change career. But when I started as a healthcare assistant on a hospital ward for older patients, it was clear how bad things had got. This is the story of a typical shift
It’s 6am on a Saturday in November, and most sensible people are still asleep. My alarm clock rudely reminds me that I am not one of them. I am down for a 12-and-a-half-hour shift, and I have slept poorly. I get dressed and drive to work. I don’t have time for breakfast. It’s still dark, and there is no traffic to contend with, but I feel as if I could nod off at any moment. I arrive at the hospital, a large regional hospital in the east of England, and put on my uniform – a shapeless blue polycotton tunic with ill-fitting trousers and a pair of old running shoes. I walk on to the ward at 7am to find the night team still busily rushing around. The night has been terrible, they say – patients have been up and down constantly.
I glance at the staffing board. The orthogeriatric ward, for elderly people with fractures, has a capacity of 28 patients, spread across bays and side rooms. For staffing purposes, the ward is split into two roughly equal halves. On my half of the ward, there is a nurse and two healthcare assistants – I’m one of them – to help with basic patient care. I feel the tension in my shoulders dissipate slightly as I see that I’m due to work with a friendly and capable colleague, and I feel today might not be as bad as yesterday. No sooner has this thought formed, however, than her name is crossed off the board. She’s being moved to another ward, which is even more short-staffed than ours.
