As I approach the second anniversary of losing our
beloved Neil, I still carry the trauma of what happened in his last days in
Wolverhampton's New Cross Hospital.
Compassion was sorely lacking.
I was commissioned to write about this some months
ago for a national newspaper as a case study in a bigger piece about NHS
failings. That piece never saw the light of day. So here I am getting it out there.
My husband Neil died in May 2012 of melanoma, six weeks after his 44th birthday.
The hospital concerned has told us they are “deeply sorry” for some
aspects of Neil’s care and in response to others, an action plan would be
developed. In short, things were to change because of our experience and my
complaint. I felt compelled to tell our story as too often now I’m being told
it’s typical and I wanted to help prevent similar distress for other families in
the future. Today's report from Macmillan tells us what too many people already knew.
Ours is not a headline-grabbing case of massive negligence, rather, to me and my family, a
heartbreaking account of how so many basic things can be overlooked.
In writing a complaint letter to the hospital, I wanted to call for better training for staff on
general medical wards so that other families are less likely to suffer as we
did. To be honest with you I also want to tell this story as it hurts so much and I'm still getting flashbacks.
I asked management to
explain what training staff in general wards underwent to meet the needs of terminally ill
patients and urged them to consider investing in increased/improved training.
I received five pages of apology.
These are points, condensed but also added to a little here, that I raised:
Days before Neil died:
- Despite being admitted because of dehydration, he was refused a drink of
water as we waited in the Emergency Assessment unit. He was given a
drip sometime after we arrived (I don't recall how long this was, but certainly more than an hour) only to have it removed to stop porters, who broke into an argument
in front of us, refusing to take him for an X ray. They rowed about this between themselves and didn't say or do anything to acknowledge our presence as the subject of their disagreement over whether you could take someone to an X ray with a drip attached. I watched them in silence. It would be up to a doctor whether Neil could have a drink. Every time I asked when the doctor would see Neil I was told: "Not a clue." Five hours later, at around 9pm, we saw one. I clearly remember wondering what the point of being there was and to this day, I have no answer.
- Once he was on the ward, and this is an image that haunts me, Neil lay motionless half way down his bed, his face and clothes smeared with food, while plates piled up still stacked with uneaten meals on his over-bed table. I hated the way the nurses referred to Neil, for example when I asked why he wasn't eating, I was told: 'He likes his independence too much.' To me, hearing a young man of such fierce intellect spoken of in such patronising terms, as if he was a wilful elderly patient or child, was hard to bear. I pulled the curtains around his bed to stop other patients staring at him. I wanted him to have privacy and dignity, both of which were evidently lacking. A nurse immediately drew them back.
- We were laughed at when we attempted to report his Kindle missing from his bedside and asked
if it could have been stolen. In everything our family has gone
through in recent months, the memory of a nurse laughing at me while my
husband lay dying is one of the most painful. I couldn’t believe how
nurses were interacting with me, with a sort of ‘enforced jollity’ hours
after being told my husband was so desperately ill. I started sobbing that I wanted to take him home that minute. I'll let you imagine how we all felt that Neil's Kindle, a thoughtful birthday present from some of our friends, had been taken from his bedside in his last days. Later, as I aired my concerns about Neil's care to a senior member of staff, he admonished me for bringing in valuables.
- Neil was
refused a wash and told he could have a shower in the morning. In the
morning he didn't get a shower as nurses didn't have time. Me and
one of my 13-year-old daughters spent an hour with Neil who could barely stand, in the ward
bathroom, we were in a very distressed state but wanted to do our best for
Neil to fulfil a basic need that had been refused. My daughter insisted she wanted to help, I was inconsolable that she would have this troubling episode as a memory so close to losing her dad.
- Later a nurse came and
said that they would have given him a wash but they were on changeover. If
someone had explained this to me in a professional and caring manner then
maybe it wouldn’t have been such a distressing turn of events but they
didn’t. Instead I had been dismissed and made to feel unreasonable for
requesting the most basic care.
- A nurse in the emergency
admissions unit met our repeated questions about what was happening with
the answer 'not a clue'. Days later we requested a wheelchair so we
could take him out of bed, the response was “Who’s Neil?”
- He fell from his bed and no
warnings about his limited mobility or danger of falling were displayed. What do you think I would like to say about that?
- On
another visit we were told that nursing staff had been unable to give Neil
his prescribed medication as his notes couldn’t be found. As one of those
medicines was morphine to control his pain, this was another cause of
concern.
- Some days (most I think in this short period, though my memory is blurred) I wasn't allowed to be with
him at any other time than in visiting times and should have been advised
of flexible times. This hurts so much, I think so often of that lost time with him and how I wasn't there just to hold his hand. I did ask for longer with him, out of normal visiting times but wasn't allowed before his last two days when we were told he would die in the ambulance if he was moved to St Giles Hospice.
- With no
staff in view, after giving him a wash, I said goodbye one night to Neil, an elderly
man two beds down started shouting at me for help in finding something. I
said I was sorry I didn’t work there. He became very angry and shouted at
me some more. I was upset there were no nurses to look after someone else
who was now berating me for not doing their job – an utterly chaotic and
distressing experience.
- When I took up all the above
points with a ward manager, I was told there were patients “much more ill
than Neil.”
- Another scan we were told would be
booked ASAP never happened. Four days later a forgotten request was found
in Neil’s notes, despite assurances when I attempted to check on progress
that efforts were being made to move him up the list. By this time, we were told there was no point in having more tests, Neil's condition had deteriorated to the extent he was going to die soon. I remember a conversation with a junior doctor I hadn't met before around this time whose words went along the lines of "I am sorry your husband has cancer." Baffled by his response to my questions, I replied I'd known a while.
- A palliative care team
wasn’t informed of Neil’s presence in the hospital until 48 hours before
he died, I felt so very strongly about the nurses’ dismissive attitude and
the fact that we weren’t afforded a single word of kindness before Neil
was transferred to the specialist cancer ward where he died after spending
five days on a general medical ward.
- Raising
the point of how we were spoken to, I said in my letter to the hospital: “You
may not find this a significant complaint but I can assure you that faced
with the anguish of Neil’s condition such dismissive treatment from an
overworked nurse cut like a knife. In hindsight, knowing he had days to
live, I am baffled how anyone working in such an environment could find
this communication acceptable.”
- During
our five-hour wait to see the doctor on the night of Neil’s admission, an
elderly woman patient came and took Neil’s blanket, accusing him of
stealing it from her. There was not a member of staff in sight to come to
our aid in the face of a clearly agitated woman and I was alarmed by how
she was scaring Neil. I told her to go away and leave us alone.
- When Neil
returned from x-ray after being admitted, I couldn’t find his drip. I
found a nurse to tell and she said she had taken it off. I was worried
about how long he had been without it but got no further explanation. I
asked for it to be refitted and some 20 minutes later it was. Had I not
have left Neil to go and find a nurse and request the drip was returned, I
dread to think when this would have been refitted. I considered keeping a
patient hydrated a basic part of care and was upset that this was not
being achieved – especially when this was the reason Neil had been sent to
hospital.
- It is a huge source of grief
to me that Neil’s last days were filled with such chaos. I feel so
much grief that we didn’t continue to look after Neil at home instead of
him enduring what we did.
My complaint:
I wrote seven pages of complaint to New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton
around a month after Neil died when I could find the words. After a month my
complaint hadn't been acknowledged so I rang and was told the letter must have
got lost in the post. Later I was told more time was needed. The final response
which came two months after I made it was five pages of apology which sought to
reassure me my complaints were taken seriously and improved training/communication
was under way. Reading the answer to the points I raised sent me into a panic
attack - the second since I was given the news Neil would die within 48 hours.
The hospital’s response: (Signed by Kevin Stringer, Chief Financial
Officer on behalf of David Loughton CBE, Chief Exec Royal Wolverhampton Hospitals NHS Trust )
An investigation was carried out.
On our care in EAU:
They acknowledge the way we were spoken to was unacceptable and apologise. They
outline how requests for information should be met with respect and courtesy.
They say we should have been treated with more sensitivity.
They say my raising questions about training was appropriate and outline
the training they undertake and add that the EAU isn’t an ideal place for
terminally ill patients. They say staff now work closely with the palliative
care team to provide necessary support. (I think but can’t be sure this means a
result of my letter which is a comfort.)
The missing scan request
They say it is not clear if the request was ever received.
Our experience with the drip
They say fluids should not have been stopped and are ‘deeply sorry’ for
what happened, staff have been spoken to.
They say our experience was below standard and my concerns are being
discussed further at a team governance (quality) meeting in order to ensure
protocols are in place to prevent a recurrence.
Neil’s fall:
They are “extremely sorry” he fell while in their care.
They apologise that no advisory signs were displayed over Neil’s bed.
All staff have been reminded of the importance of such signs
Visiting times
They apologise these weren’t extended for me
Lack of basic care and hygiene
They apologise that the appropriate care and attention required was lacking. All
staff have been reminded of the importance of undertaking comfort rounds
They apologise that staff reaction to a request for a wash led me to
take matters into my own hands
Loss of kindle
They apologised for the poor experience we experienced
Poor communication
They are sorry I felt we weren’t given enough information and also wish
to apologise that I felt staff didn’t offer appropriate support at this
extremely difficult time and at times they behaved inappropriately, adding to
my distress.
My experience will be shared with relevant staff at team meetings and
directorate governance forums. An action plan will be developed in response to
my experiences.
Conclusion:
They were very concerned to read of our experiences.
“Please let me say how sorry I am for the additional upset caused to you
and your family at this time. I hope you are reassured that your comments have
been taken on board by the nursing team and group managers.”
Important note:
The care Neil received in the specialist Deansley cancer ward at New Cross was amazing from lovely, lovely people. He was there for five weeks in one go at one time, and he eventually died there. St Giles Hospice were also phenomenal through their home care and counselling services and a bed was ready for him, but he never made it. Perhaps if the palliative care team at New Cross had been told earlier we were there, who knows, he may have.
Macmillan blew us away, helping Neil walk so he could accompany me down the aisle at our wedding. A happier memory is how the nurses and doctors at Deansley stood and clapped as he inched his way down the corridor with a walking frame after weeks of not being allowed to move and losing all mobility, thanks to his remarkable determination and the unswerving commitment and patience of the Macmillan physios. His consultant Dr Simon Grummett never treated Neil with anything less than complete respect, care and dignity, his support for us and his hopes of helping Neil live longer through innovative treatment brought us great comfort.
