I have looked into the eyes of a mourning mother while I pick up her miscarried foetus from the floor.
I have looked into the eyes of a wife who is holding the hand of her dying husband who two hours ago walked himself to the ambulance.
I have looked into the eyes of the whānau who have brought their one-year-old child in after six earlier visits, who now needs resuscitation and immediate intervention from Starship Hospital.
Looking into the eyes of the most vulnerable
I have looked into the eyes of a mother while I handed her her dying baby.
I have looked into the eyes of a teenager while I administer life-saving medicine in the back corridor of the emergency department.
I have looked into the eyes of a child who is struggling to breathe and can’t understand why.
I have looked into the eyes of someone’s grandfather who desperately wants me to sit with him and talk, while I’m forced to leave the room without giving him the time he needs.
I have looked into the eyes of our most vulnerable.
This is my job, these are real stories, these are real people, these are your friends, your parents, your tamariki, OUR community.
This is my job, these are real stories, these are real people, these are your friends, your parents, your tamariki, OUR community.
I was born and raised in the North Island and found my home here in Te Tai Tokerau. I was lucky enough to be raised by a nurse (along with an incredible dad). This not only gives you immense strength as a child but also provides you growing up with many stories of inequities and poverty and an ability to make change in people’s lives.
I want to acknowledge my mum, and her career as a midwife and nurse. A woman who still provides me with every amount of support a nurse needs.
I am a nurse in Whangārei emergency department, an area of nursing where I find immense joy, challenge and satisfaction. I am incredibly passionate about nursing, a career I believe is one of the most important. I find myself here tonight as a delegate who is sick of whining and ready to stand up and speak.
I’m ready to speak on behalf of my colleagues, past and present. I am ready to speak on behalf of my family — my children, my husband, my brothers and sisters and all the tamariki in my life. But, most importantly, the faces and hearts of the people’s lives I have the privilege of being part of when I go to work. And I promise you, it’s a privilege.
I find myself here tonight as a delegate who is sick of whining and ready to stand up and speak.
These people deserve better. These people deserve the best.
The last few months, I have found myself in an emotional place in my career where I haven’t been before. I find myself stretched between sadness and anger.
I have felt that the lack of understanding about health is personal. I can’t help but think they just don’t care.
What I find really interesting is that ministers and MPs come to our place of work and they come smiling and they come with management. They come when it’s the quietest part of the day and they visit the new builds and to-be-builts.
These people deserve better. These people deserve the best.
I challenge them to turn up on Monday afternoon, when the waiting room is full of 30 patients, some of whom nurses are very worried about; the staff have clocked up 10,000 steps, the coordinator is being challenged every second of their shift looking for a space to put the sickest patients, supporting their drowning staff, trying to find more people to help — and constantly working with other specialties to coordinate effective and timely care.
Come on the rainy days, when we get out buckets for the many leaks.
Come on the days that the nurses are in tears from being abused by patients.
Come on the days when the mental health patient has been waiting 12 hours for a bed to be free in an appropriate space.
Come on the days when we line the back corridor with ambulance patients.
Come on the days when we resuscitate patients in a room that is a third of the size we need.
Come on the days we don’t have enough staff.
Come on these days — the days we need you to see.
The hospital is constantly patched up with staff who are working extra shifts, being redeployed to areas they are uncomfortable or unfamiliar with — giving the best care they can, but what is essentially not the best care for the patient.
Stop sending emails that start with: “We value you”, because the only person I ever truly believe is the patient.
Working in health gives you a front-row seat to society’s deepest wounds. And you see how many of them are rooted in injustice.
This isn’t a funding shortfall, it’s a shift of values. It’s not mismanagement, it’s a model. And in Te Tai Tokerau, we’ve been told to accept less for decades. Fewer doctors, fewer nurses, fewer services and longer waits.
But the truth is this: This is not about what we can afford. It’s about who the system is being rebuilt to serve.
To the people who make decisions about health, think long and hard about how it feels to look into the eyes of our most vulnerable.
– Bridget Firth is an emergency nurse and NZNO delegate. This article was based on her kōrero at an NZNO – Association of Salaried Medical Specialists hui for health on June 17 in Whangārei.
See also: A striking perioperative nurse shares the challenges she faces every day.