Session #3: paediatric/childhood texts

As a preface, we looked at this floor plan of part of a hospital and I asked the group to see if they could spot any issues with it.

http://www.ltmgh.com/Images/Planning&Expansion_of_Hospital_Building.pdf

And in fairness, the unfairness of men having three urinals and two cubicles while women only have two cubicles was identified by one of the fellas. I then read and we discussed an extract about toilet design from this extract from Caroline Criado-Perez’s book Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men

But even if male and female toilets had an equal number of stalls, the issue wouldn’t be resolved, because women take up to 2.3 times as long as men to use the toilet.

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I then read & we discussed a poem I had chanced upon in a journal called Alt. It’s called ‘Delivery Room in December’ by Maria Finch. It’s powerful.

My heart latched to you as they wheeled you away
Leaving this husk of lost luggage behind
A cavernous ravenous vessel
That expelled life and then inhaled fear
As eyes locked mine and named me as your own.

~

We then read and discussed as we went Lucy Caldwell’s brilliant story, ‘Multitudes’:

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Finally, I read them and we interpreted Julia Donaldson’s The Magic Paintbrush, about the ultra assertive, Shen, as a metaphor for medical training.

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Opening session: Sepsis undiagnosed, cancer unreported

We opened by reading together the tragic, tragic, tragic story of the death in Naas hospital on Christmas Day just gone of twenty-four-year-old Karen McEvoy from sepsis, only days after safely having had her third child, as reported by Kitty Holland in the Irish Times.

https://www.irishtimes.com/news/health/woman-24-who-died-a-week-after-giving-birth-had-sepsis-says-coroner-1.3776483

The overall sense that came across from the reading was one of incredulity: how could this have happened to this young, healthy mother; how was the sepsis missed; how could she have handled so much pain without the urgency of the situation becoming apparent to everyone?

We looked at the language of the reporting and at what Karen’s partner, Barry Kelly, has said since, as quoted by Holland:

“Nobody asked Karen anything about why she was on crutches… “I went into her and I was talking to her. I was like: ‘I love you. You can’t leave me. We have to build our house. We have to get married in 2025.’ I just kept calling her. I can still hear the sounds of the compression pump on her chest, and all I wanted was to hear the beep, but it was just a flatline… “I have to do this for Karen. Her shoes are my shoes. No matter what I do or say I can never bring Karen back.
“I have to get answers for my kids. They are not going to believe in fairies forever. I have to be able to tell them: ‘This is what happened to your mum’.”

We discussed some of the factors that may have fed into the disastrous dynamic that led to the tragedy: her background, her situation, the time of year, the healthcare resources.

I wondered might there be anything in simply the fact that Karen was a woman (aside from the postpartum aspect of the pathology). There was a discussion about the idea of women being taken less seriously than men when it comes to their reports of pain. I suggested we keep in mind the possibility of some women in some cultures (Ireland, for instance) being less likely to report pain in the first place for fear of being the focus of attention, of causing someone a problem, of ruffling feathers, of breaching the unwritten code of behaviour that says you’re not worthy of anything more than survival.

With that in mind we moved onto our second text: John McGahern’s The Barracks, particularly the story therein of Elizabeth, who develops breast cancer and is very slow to report her symptoms with tragic results.

She could not let herself collapse …

She tried to brush it off as nothing. With all her will she rose from the chair. She lifted off the boiling kettle, put on a saucepan.
  “It’s nothing at all,” she smiled casually with every muscle in her face. “It’s only to be sure.”


It’ll probably be just another iron tonic,” Elizabeth tried to close the conversation.

“Have you been aware of them for long?” he asked.
  He did not even ask to see them yet. She pretended to count back.
  “Last November,” she diminished. “I felt as well as usual. Christmas was coming. There seemed so many things I had to do. It went on the long finger and slipped from day to day.”

  “In the breast. There are cysts there. They may be malignant.…”
  “When did you notice them?”
  “A few weeks ago,” she lied.
  “You never told?” he reproached.
  “I thought that they were nothing,” she tried to excuse. “I didn’t want to cause you more trouble. I was feeling tired and didn’t know till he said.…”

‘Outside the operating theatre, I burst into tears’: Gabrielle Cummins on experiencing a panic attack during a medical procedure

From the Irish Times >>>

“Will I get your mam?” asked the nurse.

“She’s not here,” I spluttered in between tears, “she had to get back to our shop to work.”

Those lines are from my diary, written when I was 13 years of age. I had just been admitted to hospital with a threatened burst appendix and was about to be operated on to have it removed. My 13-year-old self writes: “When I’m brought to the room outside the operating theatre, I suddenly become very frightened and burst into tears. The nurse tries to console me. I’m given something to calm me down and a short time later, all I remember is being wheeled into the operating theatre where I comment on the great view of the Rock of Cashel out the window and then I fall into a deep sleep. I wake up in the recovery room, calling once again for my mother and, thankfully, this time she’s there.”

Read the rest >>> 

Final session, in St James’s Hospital

Two things got us off to a bad start for this one:

  1. This was meant to be last week’s session so that all the social & political material of last week would be the climax, but it wasn’t logistically possible.
  2. The transport from Trinity Biosciences Institute was late & some students got lost which meant we were very late getting started & therefore had to cut a few texts that I’d planned to read with them 😦

We met at the entrance to the hospital & I briefed them on a small exercise I wanted them to do: inspired by Danielle Ofri’s idea of literary rounds, I gave them each the text of a different poem/text & asked them to read it to themselves for a few moments. Each poem was set in a hospital. I then asked to make their way at their leisure to the seminar room and on the way to observe as much as they could about the hospital environment connected with, inspired by, or entirely unrelated to the poem they’d just read!

In class, we started with the Yeats poem & tried to recall it without reference to the text. It wasn’t entirely a success, let’s just say.

We then went around the group, with each person reading aloud the poem they had received and then sharing with the group their observations about hospitals/ the hospital we were in / the hospital in the poem. Each contribution led to further discussions & chats & recollections.

The poems were Leanne O’Sullivan’s ‘Tracheotomy’, & ‘Leaving Early’, ‘In the Way’ by Elaine Feeney, ‘Postcards from a Hospital’ by Doireann Ní Ghriofa, ‘Visitors, Kidney Ward’ by Enda Coyle-Greene, ‘Leaving the Ward Behind Me’ by Tommy Lambert & ‘The Chapel Corridor’ by Barry Mitten (both from Climbing Mountains in our Minds, edited by Sylvia Cullen) and Patrick Kavanagh’s ‘The Hospital’.

Bronwen Barrett & Martha Knight of Freshly Ground Theatre

The texts we didn’t get to, but which I distributed nonetheless and which I will be using with a new group next term instead, were Eleanor Hooker’s ‘The Man in Bed Eight’ & the first scene from a new play called the Bold Step by Bronwen Barrett & Martha Knight of Freshly Ground Theatre, which I saw (& was totally bowled over by) at the weekend. (They kindly emailed me the opening scene, which they based on interviews with their mothers about their own births: “M: There was a student midwife sitting beside me, shaking … B: ‘you’ll be grand, you’ll be grand.’ M: I remember turning to this nurse, typical teacher, like, in the middle of the epidural, saying ‘sure, I could be correcting copies”!!!!! 🙂 

I then read a few bits of Danille Ofri’s essay ‘The Poetry Ward’  about introducing poems to the routines of doctors in hospitals. I finished up with a full reading of John Stone’s ‘Gaudeamus Igitur’ & dismissed everyone with best wishes. 🙂