A Hospital Christmas Day

Christmas day at Glenfield Hospital was a day that no nurse without young children would ever mind working. Those on the rota for the morning shift had previously worked the late shift on Christmas Eve. Sister Chalk had produced NHS funds so that each patient had a gift to open on Christmas morning and these would be placed at the end of each bed by the night staff.

It was 1985 and I had been tasked with buying the inexpensive gifts with a Christmas card and wrapping.  The Ward was Female Surgical. A great believer in the power of the bath, I purchased bottles of bath gel and talc in various flavours. These would be used on Christmas morning for a deep soothing bubble or bed-bath for each patient in every six-bed bay. The old adage that the busiest nurses are the ones with a liberal dusting of talc on their shoes, is, in my opinion, a true one, mine were always peppered with talcum powder.

A warm comforting soak later, patients emerged from the bathroom, many on a mobile hoist, trailing an aroma of Lavender, Lily of the Valley, Rose or Coconut as they were held aloft and transported back to bed.

Day staff arrived for duty by 6.45 am having finished at 10 pm the previous evening. Morning report was given just before the night staff left at 7 am. For Christmas day many nurses sported fancy-dress, arriving on the Ward as Fairies, Elves, and a Christmas Tree to name but a few.

By mid-morning, patients gleamed, shiny faces, hair washed and brushed, the Ward pristine with bedside flowers neatly arranged.

At 11 am, the Surgeon arrived sporting full costume and make-up as a clown. Not an image you would want to conjure up if you were lying prone on a trolley, pre-op. His two children attended and ran between the beds collecting Quality Street, Thorntons, Ferrero Roche and any sweet treat the patients had unwrapped from brightly decorated Robin, Holly/Ivy or rotund Father Christmas wrapping paper.

Mr. Wann - who could notoriously replace a hip joint in less than 30 minutes - always bought his six children who could enthusiastically devour three courses in next to no time and still have room for more chocolate.

As you can imagine, the arrival at 12 o’clock of the golden brown, steaming turkey roused a round of applause from its weak and sickly audience. The bird was carved meticulously at the steady hands of the eminent Surgeon.

After lunch, a group of local children came in to sing carols. Even the poorly patients mouthed the words, the odd tear trickling down a cheek at the memory of Christmases past. For these souls, who had been too sick for discharge, the dread of staying in hospital for Christmas may have been transformed into a happy experience, a day packed with surprises and events served with generosity and goodwill. It was perhaps more about the spectacle than the deed. Patients, whether pre or post op, do not tend to have a large appetite.

At 2 pm the visitors arrived. More gifts, maybe a Poinsettia or Cyclamen in a fancy pot with a ribbon, more smellies, perhaps a fancy nightdress – what else do you buy the mainly elderly hospital patient who has to later transport the gift home at the end of their stay?

Gratitude of the relatives was mostly shown in the form of chocolate or biscuits. These would be devoured mostly by the ‘Lates’ who would work until 9 pm. The morning shift ended at 3 pm and many nurses, me included, returned home to cook dinner and open presents with family.

The patients’ day had started abruptly at 6 am when the bright fluorescent light tubes sprung into life. The thrills of the day would eventually take their toll on the varying degrees of serious illness. Fatigue was aided further by an optional measure of sherry or whisky from the Drug Trolley at lunch and dinner. Full bellies and the additional alcoholic infusion found most resort to the land of nod long before the night shift arrived.

Good-night and God bless, for its Boxing Day tomorrow and we can do most of it again.

CW

Image by Lorena Lees