The man who installed and has maintained my Environmental Controls retires this month; I shall feel bereft! Doubtless there will be a replacement for him, but things just won't be the same! He has 'been around' right from the start - when I was discharged home in 2000, and it gave me a sense of security knowing that he would fix any faults or add anything new I got to my existing system. This 'loss' set me thinking - how my attitude to this has changed over the years!
I had never heard the term before. Environmental Controls. I don't even remember what I imagined, when they were mentioned to me - soon after I arrived in the rehabilitation unit. I do remember vividly being very resistant to the idea. It was tantamount to giving-up! I was visited one afternoon by the Senior Registrar (a very nice, very earnest lady), who suggested I might try 'Environmenal Controls'. I was indignant! Be dependent on a machine? Never! The ability to switch a light off, turn the TV on, or open the curtains was still fresh in my mind. I could see no reason why, given time and hard work, I shouldn't do them again. Naive optimist!
Whenever I was in bed, or sitting up in a chair, I was rigged up to a metal box, which was divided into sections, each with a little light. These lit up in sequence, with an electronic voice announcing each function. With the help of this, I could call a nurse, switch on a light, turn on the fan or the TV. Bear in mind that this was 1999, and it did seem pretty basic. But it did give me some level of independence, even though I felt 'tethered', and even though I used it with grudging gratitude.
When it was time for me to be discharged home, I was visited by some-one from Social Services, who showed me a much more up-to-date version. This was far more acceptable! Much smaller and portable - and here's the bonus - and it wouldn't speak to me! I felt a whole lot better about it.I could have certain things (e.g. the TV, radio, automated curtains, telephone) programmed 'into' it, and could have radio-controlled plugs/sockets for smaller items (e.g. table-lamps, fans) - and a light and beep showed which would be activated. Much more discreet. And genuinely useful!
Over the months and years I warmed to 'my box'. I had one for use in the daytime and one for at night. I wear the 'day-box' around my neck, (and operate it with my fingers - or on a bad day with my fist!), and I have a pillow-switch for operating the 'night-box'. I would not be without 'environmental controls' now. I think it could be said that I am a convert. I look around me, working out what else can be automated; - I must be an environmentalist's nightmare as so many things are on 'stand-by'!
How my attitude has changed over the many years that I have been paralysed. I have learned that - in this case anyway - 'mind over matter' doesn't work, and I need all the help I can get. Environmental Controls are a great help. With them I have a level of independence far greater than would ever be possible without them!
Tuesday, 19 February 2013
Sunday, 23 December 2012
15 ...and another thing ...
A friend remarked the other day how nativity plays (in schools) had changed over the years, and were now pretty much unrecognisable as such. I have even heard of an octopus featuring in a recent nativity play! Whatever is going on?
I suppose this sort of thing is in the name of inclusivity. It set off two trains of thought .....
It is of course a multi-cultural society that we are part of today. And multi-faith! And some of our schools have an increasingly large proportion of non-Christian and minority-group raised children. And it stands to reason that schools have no wish to prevent any child participating in an end-of-term production. But at the expense of distorting a well-loved, traditional story? Surely it would be better to learn about other cultures' traditional stories, and to learn respect and acceptance of all the diversities of culture and faith in modern society. Surely better than this constant 'dumbing-down', lest some-one might be offended!
And what of including everybody? Well, the nativity story does not specify numbers of shepherds. Or stars. Or angels. There is no mention of octopi.
My second train of thought went something like this: it seems almost as though we are ashamed to have a faith! Stastitically,apparently now there are fewer people declaring themselves to belong to the major religions, yet alone the Established Church. But, if Mental Health experts are to be believed (and I see no reason to doubt this), a great proportion of the population is still searching for spiritual enrichment: something that used to be 'provided'by one's faith in God (of whichever religion).
Personally, I have often found the atheist stance rather arrogant. It seems to be built on a certainty, and the suggestion is that scientific knowledge will ultimately provide us with answers to all our questioning and searching. That is all very well. I once tried to learn physics. Very early on, it became apparent that much of the 'facts' were actually 'faith'(which, as we know, means 'hope', or 'trust'), not certainty, which I had been led to believe. This was a leap of faith too far for me, and I made no further progress.
Soon after the stroke, the doctor in charge of my care was showing me the angiograms (X-rays of blood vessels) of my head and neck. The clot which had caused the stroke could clearly be seen (or rather its effects on the surrounding tissues). If it had come to rest a millimetre further on, I would not have survived. The doctor turned to me and said 'somebody up there was looking after you!'. I nodded in agreement. But neither of us meant that literally. Neither of us thought of a man (or of an angel), sitting up in the sky and looking down deciding that I should live. (Some people would consider it pure chance that I survived)
Similarly, many folk have suggested that I should have turned my back on The Church, as I had the stroke during a Mothering Sunday Service. 'How could God let that happen, especially in His own House?', they say. Well, I don't believe He did, but that is a theological discussion for another time and place!
So, where did these trains of thought end up? Nowhere really; they just went round and round. But 'on the journey', my conviction was reinforced that whatever one's faith, it remains a mystery that should be cherished and celebrated, and respected by all.
I suppose this sort of thing is in the name of inclusivity. It set off two trains of thought .....
It is of course a multi-cultural society that we are part of today. And multi-faith! And some of our schools have an increasingly large proportion of non-Christian and minority-group raised children. And it stands to reason that schools have no wish to prevent any child participating in an end-of-term production. But at the expense of distorting a well-loved, traditional story? Surely it would be better to learn about other cultures' traditional stories, and to learn respect and acceptance of all the diversities of culture and faith in modern society. Surely better than this constant 'dumbing-down', lest some-one might be offended!
And what of including everybody? Well, the nativity story does not specify numbers of shepherds. Or stars. Or angels. There is no mention of octopi.
My second train of thought went something like this: it seems almost as though we are ashamed to have a faith! Stastitically,apparently now there are fewer people declaring themselves to belong to the major religions, yet alone the Established Church. But, if Mental Health experts are to be believed (and I see no reason to doubt this), a great proportion of the population is still searching for spiritual enrichment: something that used to be 'provided'by one's faith in God (of whichever religion).
Personally, I have often found the atheist stance rather arrogant. It seems to be built on a certainty, and the suggestion is that scientific knowledge will ultimately provide us with answers to all our questioning and searching. That is all very well. I once tried to learn physics. Very early on, it became apparent that much of the 'facts' were actually 'faith'(which, as we know, means 'hope', or 'trust'), not certainty, which I had been led to believe. This was a leap of faith too far for me, and I made no further progress.
Soon after the stroke, the doctor in charge of my care was showing me the angiograms (X-rays of blood vessels) of my head and neck. The clot which had caused the stroke could clearly be seen (or rather its effects on the surrounding tissues). If it had come to rest a millimetre further on, I would not have survived. The doctor turned to me and said 'somebody up there was looking after you!'. I nodded in agreement. But neither of us meant that literally. Neither of us thought of a man (or of an angel), sitting up in the sky and looking down deciding that I should live. (Some people would consider it pure chance that I survived)
Similarly, many folk have suggested that I should have turned my back on The Church, as I had the stroke during a Mothering Sunday Service. 'How could God let that happen, especially in His own House?', they say. Well, I don't believe He did, but that is a theological discussion for another time and place!
So, where did these trains of thought end up? Nowhere really; they just went round and round. But 'on the journey', my conviction was reinforced that whatever one's faith, it remains a mystery that should be cherished and celebrated, and respected by all.
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
14. Christmas is coming ...
I once was accused of wanting a 'warm, fuzzy feeling' from the celebration of Christmas. Yes! Unashamedly! It is, after all, supposed to be a season of 'great joy'! Yet all around me I see and hear exhortations to spend more money, dress up more glamorously, entertain more lavishly. There is a large amount of stress involved, it seems, and the goodwill it should engender is lost amid the feelings of compulsion, competition and conformity.
I am just as guilty as the next person! There was a time when Christmas at my house had to be picture-book perfect. If any of my plans went awry, I got very upset; considering my celebration short of the mark, and myself to have failed. Now (since my stroke), although I still spend far too much, I have simpler pleasures, and very different values. For example, wishing some-one 'Good Health' now is a much more meaningful sentiment, and although it was always important to me to spend Christmas surrounded by my family - now I feel that importance more keenly.
So are we all in search of that 'warm, fuzzy feeling'? Maybe. And where is the joy?
At the risk of sticking my head above the parapet again, I suggest that the temptation is to spend our way to comfort and joy! What is in fact a religious festival, celebrating the birth of a baby who grew up to be - for many of us anyway - God, has become another example of paying homage to the gods 'retail' and 'advertising'. I suspect that that's what my accuser was getting-at! I now see more clearly, but whether that is because of my age or because of the stroke - who knows?
I shall still aim for that 'warm, fuzzy feeling', but in my efforts to celebrate the birth of Christ, I will strive not to become a slave to those other gods.
I am just as guilty as the next person! There was a time when Christmas at my house had to be picture-book perfect. If any of my plans went awry, I got very upset; considering my celebration short of the mark, and myself to have failed. Now (since my stroke), although I still spend far too much, I have simpler pleasures, and very different values. For example, wishing some-one 'Good Health' now is a much more meaningful sentiment, and although it was always important to me to spend Christmas surrounded by my family - now I feel that importance more keenly.
So are we all in search of that 'warm, fuzzy feeling'? Maybe. And where is the joy?
At the risk of sticking my head above the parapet again, I suggest that the temptation is to spend our way to comfort and joy! What is in fact a religious festival, celebrating the birth of a baby who grew up to be - for many of us anyway - God, has become another example of paying homage to the gods 'retail' and 'advertising'. I suspect that that's what my accuser was getting-at! I now see more clearly, but whether that is because of my age or because of the stroke - who knows?
I shall still aim for that 'warm, fuzzy feeling', but in my efforts to celebrate the birth of Christ, I will strive not to become a slave to those other gods.
Thursday, 1 November 2012
13. Miserable again
My glass is still half-empty. This is a dangerous (and rather uncomfortable) state to be in. For a while now I have been concentrating on what I can't do - and that is a recipe for disaster!
These negative feelings really got going when I decided I wanted a move-round of the furniture. Many years ago (and before my stroke) I would spend a happy afternoon re-organising rooms. I would do this on a whim, and had no trouble pushing and pulling the heavy stuff around until I was happy with my handiwork. How different it is now! It must be several years since I last had a change-round, and there is no acting on a whim. There has to be a plan of action, agreed well in advance. And as for putting my back into moving furniture ...that is a thing of the past! Now, I am reduced to sitting on the sidelines, directing the proceedings.
This train of thought led on to another, more upsetting realisation. Up until recently, my thoughts (and many of my conversations) began with 'before the stroke ...' It all seemed so recent. All the values, all the skills, all the likes and dislikes, all the habits I had then were as if frozen in time. Maybe I clung to them because these, and other aspects of my character were the only things I had left. The 'important' bits of my character still remain, but I can no longer think of it as 'recent'. It is thirteen years since I had the stroke; thirteen years I have been this way. I can no longer revel in the triumph of cheating death, of surviving against all odds, of defying all and sundry to prove the point that I wasn't a 'lost cause'. I am in the 'long haul' that is the rest of my life. And this realisation has made me miserable.
It would be so easy to slide into depression. At one stage it was even an expected consequence. But I am too stubborn for that ...and some might say 'bloody-minded'. So for the time being I will continue to kick the cat (metaphorically of course). Oh, and re-arrange the furniture!
These negative feelings really got going when I decided I wanted a move-round of the furniture. Many years ago (and before my stroke) I would spend a happy afternoon re-organising rooms. I would do this on a whim, and had no trouble pushing and pulling the heavy stuff around until I was happy with my handiwork. How different it is now! It must be several years since I last had a change-round, and there is no acting on a whim. There has to be a plan of action, agreed well in advance. And as for putting my back into moving furniture ...that is a thing of the past! Now, I am reduced to sitting on the sidelines, directing the proceedings.
This train of thought led on to another, more upsetting realisation. Up until recently, my thoughts (and many of my conversations) began with 'before the stroke ...' It all seemed so recent. All the values, all the skills, all the likes and dislikes, all the habits I had then were as if frozen in time. Maybe I clung to them because these, and other aspects of my character were the only things I had left. The 'important' bits of my character still remain, but I can no longer think of it as 'recent'. It is thirteen years since I had the stroke; thirteen years I have been this way. I can no longer revel in the triumph of cheating death, of surviving against all odds, of defying all and sundry to prove the point that I wasn't a 'lost cause'. I am in the 'long haul' that is the rest of my life. And this realisation has made me miserable.
It would be so easy to slide into depression. At one stage it was even an expected consequence. But I am too stubborn for that ...and some might say 'bloody-minded'. So for the time being I will continue to kick the cat (metaphorically of course). Oh, and re-arrange the furniture!
Thursday, 4 October 2012
12. This week I am feeling very sorry for myself
I guess that there are many women 'of a certain age' who don't like what they see when they study themselves in the mirror. I am no exception, though this has been made more acute for me as for the first year following my stroke I refused to look at myself! My right eye turned inwards towards my nose, and my mouth was horrendously twisted. Now, although the eye has been surgically corrected, and my mouth is almost normally-shaped, it is still a stranger who stares back at me every time. I do not like, or even recognize the old, fat face I see in the mirror.
For many years I used to be a 'glass-half-empty' person, always looking on the dark side so that I was prepared for the worst (or so I thought!). Then, after the stroke, I became a 'glass-half-full' person. I had to! It was the only way I could survive! I had to focus on what I could still do (not a lot), rather than what I had lost (a huge amount). Every little movement was cause for celebration ...every skill regained (however basic), cause for self-congratulation. I was positive ...always positive!
But now I hear the call of that half-empty glass! The little movements have stayed little! The vast improvement I secretly (well, maybe not so secretly) hoped-for hasn't materialised, and I'm tired of being positive!
I don't like the way I look, or the way I sound. I don't like the fact that I dribble, and burp, and cough without my hand in front of my mouth. I don't like having to be fed, having to be showered (& never a soak in the bath), and having my nose blown for me. I don't like having other people using my kitchen and not being able to drive my car, or dig my garden! I Don't Like an awful lot! I'm turning into a very Grumpy Old Woman!
But hang on a minute. Do I like living at home? (Er...yes); do I like spending time with my family? (yes); do I in fact like being alive? (well...yes).
It could all have been so very different. Perhaps my glass is half-full after all ...
For many years I used to be a 'glass-half-empty' person, always looking on the dark side so that I was prepared for the worst (or so I thought!). Then, after the stroke, I became a 'glass-half-full' person. I had to! It was the only way I could survive! I had to focus on what I could still do (not a lot), rather than what I had lost (a huge amount). Every little movement was cause for celebration ...every skill regained (however basic), cause for self-congratulation. I was positive ...always positive!
But now I hear the call of that half-empty glass! The little movements have stayed little! The vast improvement I secretly (well, maybe not so secretly) hoped-for hasn't materialised, and I'm tired of being positive!
I don't like the way I look, or the way I sound. I don't like the fact that I dribble, and burp, and cough without my hand in front of my mouth. I don't like having to be fed, having to be showered (& never a soak in the bath), and having my nose blown for me. I don't like having other people using my kitchen and not being able to drive my car, or dig my garden! I Don't Like an awful lot! I'm turning into a very Grumpy Old Woman!
But hang on a minute. Do I like living at home? (Er...yes); do I like spending time with my family? (yes); do I in fact like being alive? (well...yes).
It could all have been so very different. Perhaps my glass is half-full after all ...
Saturday, 1 September 2012
11. 'There, but for the grace of God, go I'
The plight of Tony Nicholson gave me some serious food for thought. It re-awakened some uncomfortable feelings, brought back some uncomfortable memories, and made me face some uncomfortable truths.
Perhaps the most fundamental loss, when one is 'Locked-In' is that of autonomy. However 'intellectually intact' you are - you remain at the mercy of others! You can make decisions, but are completely powerless to carry them out. Even making your wishes known is a Herculean task - and there is no guarantee whatsoever that they will be carried out. You are completely dependent on others (in the worst case, even needing a ventilator to help you breathe), and there are no bounds to the frustration of waiting for and watching some-one else doing something you would prefer to do yourself.
Another great loss is that of effective communication. How I longed (& still do) for a good natter, to shout or sing; even to call the cat! Although 'talking' via eye-blinks is better than nothing (and in many respects is indeed progress), it is slow and exhausting. And once again, you are at the mercy of others - to 'listen'.
I was 'lucky'. I was Locked-in for a few months. After that, I regained enough movement in my right thumb to operate a switch, and to drive an electric wheelchair. I regained enough movement in my head to operate a headswitch, and nod or shake my head, which injected some 'normality' into my communication. Even these miniscule 'improvements' opened up my life considerably; I shudder to think of what life could have been like, without them. Over the years, I have acquired some 'speech' (I'm very dysarthric), and have learned to write a bit (the first time I signed a cheque, was indeed a red-letter day!) But even so, I remain at the mercy of others. My whole life is totally built upon trust - and if that trust is betrayed, my whole world falls apart. I have to trust people - in so many ways too diverse to mention - and I have to trust 'things' (electronic, mechanical, and otherwise) to work properly! It is these 'things' that allow me to be 'independent'. But they all have to be set-up and maintained by other people - so I am not truly independent at all!
How much more dependent to be Locked-in! Dependent for staying alive and dependent (as was the issue here) on the manner of dying. There was a lot of discussion of the rights and wrongs of this man's case. And as I listened to the various pontifications I could not help thinking '...but you have no idea of how it feels!) Whatever one feels about the ethics of this, it is surely the loss of control over one's choices that is so cruel. I don't want to die. But I was Locked-in for a matter of months. How I would have felt had it been a matter of years, I don't know.
But one thing I do know is that being Locked-in is being in a Living Hell!
Perhaps the most fundamental loss, when one is 'Locked-In' is that of autonomy. However 'intellectually intact' you are - you remain at the mercy of others! You can make decisions, but are completely powerless to carry them out. Even making your wishes known is a Herculean task - and there is no guarantee whatsoever that they will be carried out. You are completely dependent on others (in the worst case, even needing a ventilator to help you breathe), and there are no bounds to the frustration of waiting for and watching some-one else doing something you would prefer to do yourself.
Another great loss is that of effective communication. How I longed (& still do) for a good natter, to shout or sing; even to call the cat! Although 'talking' via eye-blinks is better than nothing (and in many respects is indeed progress), it is slow and exhausting. And once again, you are at the mercy of others - to 'listen'.
I was 'lucky'. I was Locked-in for a few months. After that, I regained enough movement in my right thumb to operate a switch, and to drive an electric wheelchair. I regained enough movement in my head to operate a headswitch, and nod or shake my head, which injected some 'normality' into my communication. Even these miniscule 'improvements' opened up my life considerably; I shudder to think of what life could have been like, without them. Over the years, I have acquired some 'speech' (I'm very dysarthric), and have learned to write a bit (the first time I signed a cheque, was indeed a red-letter day!) But even so, I remain at the mercy of others. My whole life is totally built upon trust - and if that trust is betrayed, my whole world falls apart. I have to trust people - in so many ways too diverse to mention - and I have to trust 'things' (electronic, mechanical, and otherwise) to work properly! It is these 'things' that allow me to be 'independent'. But they all have to be set-up and maintained by other people - so I am not truly independent at all!
How much more dependent to be Locked-in! Dependent for staying alive and dependent (as was the issue here) on the manner of dying. There was a lot of discussion of the rights and wrongs of this man's case. And as I listened to the various pontifications I could not help thinking '...but you have no idea of how it feels!) Whatever one feels about the ethics of this, it is surely the loss of control over one's choices that is so cruel. I don't want to die. But I was Locked-in for a matter of months. How I would have felt had it been a matter of years, I don't know.
But one thing I do know is that being Locked-in is being in a Living Hell!
Saturday, 11 August 2012
10. Diatribe
There's no escape - I'm going to have to come out with it - I am becoming ashamed of my profession! Whatever happened to Basic Nursing Care?
I know I am not alone in having this criticial opinion.There have been more than a few features on the radio recently concerning poor care - in our hospitals and care-homes both for elderly and disabled people, and at least one newspaper columnist makes it her business to observe and comment upon the care given in these institutions. In addition, I can speak from my own experience (as a Nurse, Patient and patient's Relative), and the experiences of some of those close to me (both in and out-of the medical and nursing professions). I recognize that, in terms of how long it is since I was an active member of the nursing profession, I am a dinasour! In my heyday we had 'Nightingale' wards (a long room, with a row of beds' - perhaps totalling around 24 - down each side), the daily routine included various task-rounds, and the Nursing Degree was still at the experimental stage - undertaken by very few. Many of the 'old ways' are frowned upon today. But were they really all bad?
'Nightingale' wards undoubtedly had their faults, but at least one could see the whole place at a glance ...and people didn't get 'forgotten'. Those in charge made it their business to know all the people and what went on in their wards - and the 'buck always stopped' with the Ward Sister or Charge Nurse. These days, some places don't even have these, favouring such entities as 'Team Leaders' (for example). I was appalled to hear recently of a Ward Sister who rebuffed an enquiring relative with 'Oh, I don't know anything about her, you'll have to ask ...'
The most basic aspects of care (food, drink and cleanliness - both of the person and his/her surroundings) are now giving cause for concern. The media have reported critically on all these subjects recently, and I have heard many anecdotes which do not make comfortable listening. One common example of such is that of a meal-tray being left out-of-reach of an immobile person, then removed with no questions asked, when it obviously hadn't been touched. Whenever it is necessary for me to go into hospital in the years since the stroke, I have either a family member or a Carer stay with me - just to make sure that these basic needs are met. Communication - both with the person concerned and his/her relatives - has also, it seems, become a casualty. Something that really bugged me when I was last in hospital was being asked 'Is that alright dear?', then the speaker walked away without waiting for an answer. Not one, but two, errors there! (And the reply was going to be in the negative anyway!)
Of course, there are (still) some truly wonderful nurses, and they probably feel - justifiably - insulted by all this criticism. I have encountered such lovely people both in the hospital and in 'the community', and they have not necessarily been those with the highest qualifications. And certainly not necessarily those with a University Degree!
It is my contention that the personality of an individual plays a much more important role in the quality of nursing care than is recognised. The inherent qualities of caring and empathy seem to be overlooked in favour of academic prowess. Common sense and kindness seems to have been supplanted by the need to meet targets and to save money. But people's basic need for time, attention and respect do not diminsh over time, despite the prevailing political or economic climate.
There; I have stuck my head above the parapet, and I expect to get shot down. But I feel justified, knowing that I am not alone in thinking the way I do. It's probably time to get down off my soap-box ...once again ...
I know I am not alone in having this criticial opinion.There have been more than a few features on the radio recently concerning poor care - in our hospitals and care-homes both for elderly and disabled people, and at least one newspaper columnist makes it her business to observe and comment upon the care given in these institutions. In addition, I can speak from my own experience (as a Nurse, Patient and patient's Relative), and the experiences of some of those close to me (both in and out-of the medical and nursing professions). I recognize that, in terms of how long it is since I was an active member of the nursing profession, I am a dinasour! In my heyday we had 'Nightingale' wards (a long room, with a row of beds' - perhaps totalling around 24 - down each side), the daily routine included various task-rounds, and the Nursing Degree was still at the experimental stage - undertaken by very few. Many of the 'old ways' are frowned upon today. But were they really all bad?
'Nightingale' wards undoubtedly had their faults, but at least one could see the whole place at a glance ...and people didn't get 'forgotten'. Those in charge made it their business to know all the people and what went on in their wards - and the 'buck always stopped' with the Ward Sister or Charge Nurse. These days, some places don't even have these, favouring such entities as 'Team Leaders' (for example). I was appalled to hear recently of a Ward Sister who rebuffed an enquiring relative with 'Oh, I don't know anything about her, you'll have to ask ...'
The most basic aspects of care (food, drink and cleanliness - both of the person and his/her surroundings) are now giving cause for concern. The media have reported critically on all these subjects recently, and I have heard many anecdotes which do not make comfortable listening. One common example of such is that of a meal-tray being left out-of-reach of an immobile person, then removed with no questions asked, when it obviously hadn't been touched. Whenever it is necessary for me to go into hospital in the years since the stroke, I have either a family member or a Carer stay with me - just to make sure that these basic needs are met. Communication - both with the person concerned and his/her relatives - has also, it seems, become a casualty. Something that really bugged me when I was last in hospital was being asked 'Is that alright dear?', then the speaker walked away without waiting for an answer. Not one, but two, errors there! (And the reply was going to be in the negative anyway!)
Of course, there are (still) some truly wonderful nurses, and they probably feel - justifiably - insulted by all this criticism. I have encountered such lovely people both in the hospital and in 'the community', and they have not necessarily been those with the highest qualifications. And certainly not necessarily those with a University Degree!
It is my contention that the personality of an individual plays a much more important role in the quality of nursing care than is recognised. The inherent qualities of caring and empathy seem to be overlooked in favour of academic prowess. Common sense and kindness seems to have been supplanted by the need to meet targets and to save money. But people's basic need for time, attention and respect do not diminsh over time, despite the prevailing political or economic climate.
There; I have stuck my head above the parapet, and I expect to get shot down. But I feel justified, knowing that I am not alone in thinking the way I do. It's probably time to get down off my soap-box ...once again ...
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