Blog One

How I ended up as Nurse Jennings on a ward in a large Midland psychiatric hospital seemed unlikely yet nevertheless complex! I was 17 years old, thought I was working towards a theatre career and attending drama classes at a local stage school. I partnered another young hopeful, and we won the cup with a Greek duologue of Antigone and Ismene. We were all stunned but excited, maybe this was the door to good things. My fellow actor casually told me that her father was Superintendent of a psychiatric hospital, and I had stayed several times at their house when we were rehearsing. Then he suggested I went to work in the hospital to do some drama one of the wards! Stunned again!

It then transpired that it was rather more complicated than he envisaged. Matron pointed out that there was no category for someone doing drama on the ward and she suggested that I applied to be Nursing Assistant which would have certain duties attached to it, and then in any space time I could do the drama. I complied and was issued with my uniform, grey dress, full apron and cuffs and small hat, and some brief rules. For example, nurses were not allowed to talk directly to the doctors unless they were spoken to first! That was all very well, but when the Superintendent came breezing down the ward and called out ‘Hello Sue, how is it all going?’, it was very difficult to keep the degree of formality expected, and Sister noticed!

For the daily tasks I was told to follow what the other nurses were doing, and I learned how to make beds with hospital corners, arrange pillows in the correct position, supervise baths and nit inspections and generally keep an atmosphere of calm. I usually had some precious time with a group of patients in the afternoon to do some drama. We had to keep it quiet and at any time people could be whisked off to see a visitor or have an assessment or move wards whatever…

However, we built up a solid feeling of group togetherness and trust, and they told me about themes they would like to explore in drama. Usually they were complaints they had about ward rules and being woken up too early in the morning, and one nurse they felt bullied them, and why were students nurses allowed to treat them when they were not qualified. Hey, I am thinking now, that began to sound like the beginnings of dramatherapy! The group members realised that I was not officially a nurse. And that led to some confidential sharing.

However, there was also a backlash! The students nurses said that I should not answer the questions about qualifications, (the student nurses had a different colour uniform to the qualified nurses), and in my naivety I thought if

people asked a question, then it should be answered! An issue I have often been challenged about in my life.
Nevertheless, there was a pleasant camaraderie amongst the nurses, at least those in the lower ranks. Sister and Matron seemed rather terrifying and remote.

My skills increased. I now knew how to request pee and poo samples from newly admitted patients, how to clean the mouth of a patient in an induced coma, and not to spend too much time with any one individual patient. As well I had honed the art of ironing a clean apron overnight and achieved the statyus of always looking as a Nursing Assistant was supposed to look!

My drama sessions were still crammed into odd moments, but they came together reasonably well. The group wanted to make it into a play to show the medical staff which we did. The doctors, in particular, were impressed, and some people noted the veiled criticisms that came through the play in an inoffensive way. I felt the main thing it achieved was to allow group members a voice so that they could express concerns without fear of reprisals. Most people on my ward suffered from depression and anxiety, and participation in the drama group seemed to reduce some of the symptoms.

Whether this was going to lead anywhere, I had no idea. I was enjoying the company, was interested in some staff suggesting I trained as a psychiatric nurse, and at least I had the semblance of ‘doing some drama’. However, things came to an unexpected end. Remember these were in the days when a sedative or anaesthetic were not given before electric shock treatment. Nurses had to hold the patient down while the doctor administered the shock, and then keep them calm during the seizure, and then walk them back to the ward as they were unsteady on their feet.

Sister called me one morning and said I was to work on the ECT ward that morning. I had no actual knowledge or preparation, and realised that after the event, I was in shock myself. Much of it due to ignorance, I am sure. After several days, I realised that I was becoming depressed; not just feeling down but so depressed I could not even get out of bed. I took sick leave, but I made sure I had told the drama group was leaving. We shared some good memories together.

I wrote and thanked the superintendent and sent in my resignation. What a learning curve, but some dramatherapy seeds were definitely sown