She was probably in her mid-thirties and had about her an
air of homely mundanity, the kind which probably inspires confidence in the
very young, the very old, and those whose mind errs on the side of incipient imbecility.
She was also very jolly in that ultra-lightweight sort of way which can become
a bit wearing after a time. And she had a habit of using the dreaded phrase: ‘…what
we call…’
‘This is what we call a tube,’ she would say, and I would
want to reply: ‘Actually, everybody calls it a tube. A tube is what it is and
what everybody knows it to be. The word ‘tube’ does not reside smugly in that
bag of arcane words and phrases known only to highly trained clinicians and
used to keep riff-raff like me wallowing in ignorant bliss. I do happen to know
what a tube is, and even what it's called’
I didn’t, of course. I played my part well, nodding dutifully
and remaining quiet apart from offering the odd mildly intelligent question or
statement to make my point without fear of conflict or insult. Nevertheless,
she remained lightly patronising in a jolly, homely sort of way, appearing to
be unconvinced that I was neither a child, an advanced geriatric, nor someone
whose mind errs on the side of incipient imbecility.
Eventually she left and my gratitude to the dear old NHS
remained unshaken: purpose served and equipment returned to proper function. And
then I was struck by the fact that grumpy old curmudgeons like me might be
allowable in British society, but people like her are far more useful.
2 comments:
Do you know that my mother was a nurse for many years? I wonder what your impression of her in her professional capacity would have been. She still has her old nurse's uniform. The style was much more regimented, almost military-like, back then. I don't know if they were more or less condescending. Actually, I do know that she never called people by their first names - it was always Mr. and Mrs. Somebody - unless they were children. It was very formal. She hates when my grandmother is in the hospital and the staff treat her like a two-year-old and act cutesy and familiar with her. Despite being 94 (in a few weeks) my grandmother is sharper mentally than anyone I know. It's funny (and sad) how anyone who isn't a fully functional person in the prime of life drops automatically into the category of "imbecility" to some people. I like to err on the side of caution. I don't even talk down to the cat.
It wasn’t a comment on nurses generally, Mad, just this one who came today. The two previous ones were splendid, and so are the nurses at the GP practice. And oddly enough, the only one of the hospital crowd who was a bit bossy and condescending was also of some junior, sub-nurse grade. Maybe it’s a compensatory thing: ‘Though my uniform be green not blue, I’m still your superior in this situation and I intend to prove it.’ I don’t know. As for your mother, I expect she was a splendid nurse. She has more of homespun wisdom than homely mundanity about her.
And the uniforms, yes. I do regret the changes in nurses’ uniforms. I remember the aprons and caps and dark stockings and capes fluttering seductively in the wind when they walked outside following a shift. Most of them still wear upside watches on their chests, though, which is a relief.
As for familiarity, that just seems to be part of a modern trend which we older Brits naturally presume to be another damn Yankee export. The board on the wall behind my bed read:
Name: Jeffrey Beazley.
Prefers to be called: Jeff.
When asked, I did suggest ‘buggerlugs’, but I was met with a chilly – if not quite icy – stare, so I had to back down and be conventional.
And I don’t think there would be much point in talking down to a cat. They generally seem to be quite secure in their superior position.
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