Corridor care: A response to the RCN’s report.

I’ve heard health professionals joke about the ‘soundproof’ curtains around a patient’s bed-space, where confidential conversations are held behind flimsy fabric under the illusion of privacy. But in a hospital corridor? There is no illusion. Only illumination. Harsh fluorescent strips extinguishing any hope of privacy. Making night and day indistinguishable to those fighting for sleep and exposing all who wait in it. But please don’t get me wrong. This lighting was perfectly designed for its intended use. Of moving a patient from one department to another. Of getting from A to B with sure footing. But these in-between spaces were made for transition, they weren’t made to be a destination. What architect could have imagined that patient care would take place in these corridors? Absolutely not! It’s not the place for writhing in pain whilst waiting for a bed on a ward. It’s not the place for being rolled onto your side and having your knickers pulled down to get onto a bedpan. Or, tragically, as we read in the RCN’s latest report on this crisis, it is not the place for weeping for your miscarried baby. Or taking your life’s final breaths. There’s a reason why we draw a curtain, however flimsy around these moments. Or sometimes find a quiet side room or dim a light. These moments should be private and dignified. And what’s more, in a hospital, we would expect them to be safe, too.

Of course, the RCN’s report on Corridor Care didn’t come as a surprise to us. We’ve heard stories like these before from our members over the years. Of managing growing patient caseloads that spill out of departments into…well, wherever there’s room to park a trolley. But, to read each of these accounts collated together, back-to-back, one after the other, is a catalogue of hopelessness and moral injury, plain to see in black and white. It’s truly heartbreaking. You’d think we were living in a war zone, not Great Britain in peacetime. And yet we might find ourselves asking, what ‘peace’ is there to be had here? There seems very little peace for our frightened and vulnerable patients and our overstretched healthcare workers.

OK, well, if you’re reading this blog on our website, I might assume that you’re waiting for the ‘but God’ moment. That pivotal point where God turns everything around. Like when Noah was held up in the ark, cooped up with his family and countless wild animals for 40 days of flooding, ‘But God remembered Noah…’ (Genesis 8:1) and dried up the land. Or maybe you’ll remember Joseph’s words to his brothers who had sold him into slavery? ‘You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good…’ (Genesis 50:20).

But.

Can I confess? I’m struggling to find the ‘but God’ in all of this today.

I don’t want to sound too negative because I believe in the powerful right hand of God. I truly believe he is the ‘Way Maker, Miracle Worker, Promise Keeper, Light in the Darkness’, a song that became an anthem for many of us during the global pandemic. And I believe in the power of prayer. In one hand, I hold King David’s words, ‘The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles (Psalm 34:17) and in the other I hold Jesus’ words telling us that ‘In this world you will have trouble…’ (John 16: 33b).

Honestly, as much as I desperately want it, I’m not sure we’re at a pivotal ‘but God’ moment for our beloved NHS.  I don’t really think we’re on the precipice of radical and immediate change that is going to address our staff shortages and the growing demands on our services. Is it possible we’re still in the ark? Maybe we’re still in the middle of our forty days and nights? Listening to the sound of the relentless torrential rain hammering hard. And… I’m just imagining now what the smell would have been like with all those animals together in one place?! I bet it would have rivalled even some of our smelliest gastro wards!

And I know that this is not particularly glamorous or exciting, but if we are in our forty days, the best thing for us to do is to trust God. As we head towards the season of Lent at the end of this month, I’m reminded that the number forty is used in Scripture to describe periods of testing and hardship.  In Matthew 4, we see Jesus himself enduring his forty days of fasting in the wilderness. Whilst he’s isolated, physically weak, and hungry, the devil comes to test him, but our Lord responds by quoting Deuteronomy, referencing the Israelites’ own wandering in the desert for forty years. ‘It is written: Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God’ (Matt 4 :4). He is determined to trust his Father in heaven. I wonder what battles Jesus won mentally during his time in the wilderness. I wonder how it might have prepared him to trust the Father when he was dying on the cross and people below hurled abuse. ‘”He saved others”, they said, “but he can’t save himself! He’s the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him”’ (Matthew 27:42). Thank you Jesus.

How are you feeling in this particular season of testing? As this RCN report shows, we seem to have normalised squeezing everything out of the potential space our hospitals have. Every nook and cranny. But are you feeling the squeeze too? Do you feel like it’s wringing you of hope?

Well, in my search for our ‘But God’ answer to this situation, I’ve been talking to some of our members who have experience working in Emergency Departments (EDs) to hear their first-hand stories of corridor care. At times like this, I love being part of a fellowship where we can encourage one another and spur each other on. One nurse spoke animatedly about how she’s learning a lot in her busy ED and described it as ‘wild’ and couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. She told me about a Christian colleague who is joyful and calm no matter what the day throws at him; what a wonderful witness for Christ! However, another nurse shared an account that broke my heart, as she told me about how her experience in ED had left her so burnt out and hopeless that she needed to leave to find a job elsewhere. I’m inspired by both of these women. One having the bravery to stay. And one having the bravery to walk away. Both trusting God.

Interestingly, despite their extremes, both nurses described an experience of the presence of God with them in the midst of it all. How beautiful it is that we endure these times of hardship with one another but also with God himself! I am blown away by God’s faithfulness to us. I pray that this would be a comfort to you too, today. If you want to be better connected with Christian brothers and sisters working in similar healthcare settings, why not become a member of CMF to be better linked up with others locally or at national events? We’d love to be in touch with you and hear your stories too. Plus, if you need extra support, we have a CMF Pastoral and Wellbeing team that you can contact through our website.

Let’s trust God together. And hold onto the fact that when the word ‘remembered’ is used in Genesis 8:1, when God remembered Noah, it wasn’t because God had accidentally forgotten him! What’s that? Oops! Is that Noah and his family still down there in that boat, I’d better go and do something about that now I suppose. No. God hadn’t forgotten Noah. I can’t imagine he took his eyes off that ark for a minute. And he hasn’t forgotten you. Keep trusting him in your forty days. We can’t know whether we’re halfway there or at day thirty. But we can keep praying. Keep rejoicing and lamenting. And we actively wait on God. Looking for a break in the clouds. Knowing that a rainbow peeks through in the end.