This one is for you Gramps!

Last week we said a final goodbye to Gramps, on what would have been his 67^th birthday.

I’d never been to a funeral. I’ve been lucky enough not to have lost anyone from my family before, so this was a first for me, and despite the great sadness and sense of hollow loss, it was a beautiful service.

I learnt so much about Gramps that I had never known. He’d had such a hard and tragic life that it was a wonder he kept smiling. He’d lost his Mum at 11 to bowel cancer, and then his Dad had died of a broken heart a couple of years later. He had two younger brothers who he’d tried to look after but they were eventually taken into care and he ran away, and stayed hidden until he was old enough to join the Army. He’d only found one of his brothers a few years before – he’d emigrated to Australia. They had reunited only once before Gramps left us. So sad…

I remember looking at his memorial card with the dates of his birth and death. In the middle was this tiny little dash that signified his whole life. A little dash that didn’t begin to tell the story of his life. Is that all we are reduced to? A tiny line that can’t begin to describe the highs and the lows, the laughter and the tears as we carve our own mark into life’s giant oak?

Mum has been brilliant (I really hate to say that and I would never tell her!). I might have lost my Gramps, but she no longer has her Dad – the man she looked up to and doted on for all of her life. She told me that Gramps had been ecstatic when I’d become a nurse and that I’d always been his favourite. She gave me a photo of the day I was born, being cradled by Gramps with love shining in his eyes. I’d never seen that faded, crumpled picture before. She told me that Gramps had carried it around in his wallet from the day I was born…

That gave me hope, and energy to pick myself up. If Gramps was proud of me, I needed to make sure that I gave him something to be proud of, every single day.

So, I went back to work yesterday. I won’t lie, my colleagues have been amazing. I’m all squeezed and hugged out. Even the patients must sense my vulnerability at this difficult time as they look at me with extra kindness and several of them stroked my face or pulled me in for a hug when I went onto the ward.

After handover, the nurse in charge, Steve, asked to have a quiet word. I assured him I was fine, that I was determined to pick up where I left off and work doubly hard to do Gramps proud. He smiled and said it was about time we had a little chat. He wanted to schedule in my supervision and asked me to have a little think about my professional development and how I wanted to progress.

I have to admit, in the 14 months I’ve been qualified, I’ve never had a supervision. But surprisingly, I wasn’t a bit worried. Usually, I’d be a paranoid wreck; thinking they only had bad things to say about me and preparing myself for receiving my P45, but seeing Gramps slip away has kind of helped me to put things into perspective. If I’m not doing a good job then tell me. Let me know where I’m lacking and I’ll work my chubby little butt off to put things right. Equally, if I’m doing something right then tell me and I will make sure I do it for breakfast, dinner and tea (and every frequent toffee crisp snack break in between). Just tell me.

I took myself by surprise when I asked Steve if we could do my supervision the next day. To be fair, I don’t know who was more surprised – me or him!! I’d thought about it overnight and talked it through with Gramps in the dark, and realisation had dawned. You see, I just want to be the best nurse that I can be. I know it might be dull, boring and non-dynamic, but I really want to specialise in dementia care.

It’s one of those conditions that doesn’t discriminate. Doesn’t matter how successful, rich or noble you have been – if it strikes, then it’s got you. I want to make a difference and help each person to realise that it doesn’t have to define you – you define and control the condition, not the other way around.

Do I sound mad? Probably!! I’ll blame it on my genes!!

I was almost maniacally excited when we sat down for my supervision. Steve was following the framework, but I was determined to send us off piste! I remember when I was a student and renowned for talking at full speed, one of my tutors had gently reminded me that I had two ears and one mouth and to use them in that proportion. One of my smart-mouthed mates had pointed out that I also had an arse, which I chose to speak out of most of the time, which kind of threw the tutor’s advice out of the window!

During my first supervision, I chose to revert to type and spoke non-stop for the first 15 minutes. When I finally drew breath, I’d about elevated myself to Florence Nightingale fame and been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for services to dementia care. To be fair to Steve, he didn’t crush me, he just asked me to rewind a little. He said that it was evident that my passion for people was not to be sniffed at, but that we needed to take things slowly. He reminded me that we also had to factor in our own lives, and the experiences that might affect our development (such as the loss of Gramps), so that we managed our own expectations. I swear, this nurse is amazing!

He talked me through the process of growing as a professional and we have planned my short term and long-term goals. In the long term, I am going to be famous and pioneering but for now I’m going to take a little caseload of my own. Steve thinks I’m ready for this challenge and he’s really inspired me to feel the same – well, him and Gramps have.

So tomorrow I take responsibility for the patients in Eden bay, all six of them. Gramps is smiling down on me. I know I can do this. I couldn’t be there for Gramps when he most needed me but I have a new opportunity to make a difference. 

Bring it on!