I've been particularly busy since I wrote my last column. So as I settle down to write this next instalment, I turned to my diary for inspiration. Once again, I'm astonished at my ability to forget entire chunks of my recent work week. If writing this column has achieved nothing else, it's exposed me to the catharsis that is achievable through taking the time to freely think, write and reflect. Instead of doing this out of obligation, this is done through choice and it feels different.
I have always fancied myself to be an emotionally intelligent person. I routinely sought opportunities to gain feedback and reflect on my personal performance, and I encouraged others to do the same. I know the importance of reflection and have personally gained a lot from it.
I was always less enamoured however about having to write it down. I recognised how thinking and reflecting developed me, but thought there was little to gain from writing about it. It seemed to me that the written bit was really to address someone else's needs: an examiner, a lecturer, a trainer, an HCPC auditor! I've never enjoyed writing, and I have certainly never been a diarist. If a screenwriter ever looked to make a Bridget Jones Diary project of my life, they'd soon realise there is a significant lack of written researchable material. Writing this column though has ignited a new passion for writing—but openly, honestly, without agenda, and definitely without a marking guide or set of standards to achieve with my words. I'd recommend it to anyone; nothing major, just writing down your thoughts about your last few shifts at work.
But before you rush off to write your memoirs, or your first diary entry since school, I'll get on with sharing more about my role and what's been happening over the last few weeks. I suspect you could take a good guess at most of my activities: meetings about infection prevention and control, quality strategy, business planning, safeguarding and a winter debrief…If you think Christmas gets longer every year, spare a thought for those of us who have to discuss it all year round!
In my first column, I mentioned I'd recently returned to work from illness. This week, I took another big step. I work in clinical leadership. My role is not about extra skills or ‘big jobs’; it's about research, education, leadership and clinical expertise. It's about delivering high-class clinical services to the public. I work with a team of advanced paramedics, responsible for clinical standards in a team of senior paramedics. There are educational standards to attain and the whole team is responsible for multiple facets of service delivery.
To assist the leadership of the teams, we have established a clinical leadership ‘contact shift’ and every clinician participates in them from all grades. It's not an assessment or evaluation; it's about making contact, talking, listening and developing together. Last week, a very lucky advanced paramedic was privileged enough to experience my first contact shift of 2019. Indeed, it was also my first face-to-face contact with a patient since falling ill in September last year. We'd agreed to try to take it easy: 3 hours and two challenging cardiac arrests later, and I was back! I'll be honest, it felt amazing.
Until becoming unwell, I had maintained clinical practice every week, trying to alternate between high- and low-acuity emergency and urgent care work. I've never been particularly excited by ‘big jobs’, preferring instead to care for the less serious but often more complex patient cohort.
When I undertook my Advanced Practice MSc, I worked mainly in general practice and I believe our urgent care patients are the majority of our work in the NHS ambulance service, as well as where the majority of risks are found. We have evolved in that direction as a profession, and we probably need to do more. The contact day was a great success. It felt brilliant to be back in the privileged role of paramedic but without doubt, being a patient has influenced me professionally as well as personally.
Becoming a patient for the first time in adulthood was not on my list of things to do in 2018 and it's reminded me that, ultimately, we are all a patient of the NHS. Maybe I'm a good paramedic; I'm very sure I'm a terrible patient, but as I found myself beginning to favour some clinicians more than others, I learned a valuable lesson. I discovered it wasn't about the nurse who always successfully cannulated, or the doctor who correctly diagnosed; my favourites were the staff who always managed a smile and said ‘hi’ as they walked past my bed, even if they weren't coming to see me. I came to realise what compassionate care actually felt like. I thought I knew, but only when I faced the harsh reality of being unwell, did I genuinely get to appreciate how the tiny things make such a huge difference. Health-wise, I am recovering; professionally, I am better than ever for the experience.
I recommended earlier that you have a go at writing. I won't go as far as recommending a stay in hospital; but if you do try and write down some reflections, think about how you dealt with the little things—trust me, they are so very important.