In good hands

By Brian Beardwood

FOR 60 years I had barely bothered the medical system. Now I was at my most vulnerable. 

A run of life-threatening illnesses, including septicaemia, kidney failure and prostate surgery, as well as personal loss and grief, meant extended stays in Frankston ICU, Wonthaggi Hospital plus a return visit to Peninsula Health. 

Sickness, stress and exhaustion had overwhelmed me. I was feeling broken and needed help. 

After a sleepless night following prostate surgery at Frankston Hospital I drifted off into a thin, restless afternoon slumber before being gently woken by a doctor.

“I'm so sorry to wake you but I understand you wanted to talk to someone.”

At this point I let myself go and there were tears - I just needed one more night of medical support before being released to head home. 

The doctor listened to my woes, reached out, held onto my hand and looked into my eyes. She assured me I would not have to leave the hospital before I was physically and emotionally ready and all the staff were there to help me. She was wonderful, made me feel safe and that I would be okay. 

A busy, high-achieving, intelligent doctor who went out of her way to show empathy, make light physical contact, made me feel heard and that I mattered. She showed me kindness – much underrated when treating cognitive health – and I will never forget her understanding, professionalism and sympathy.

She also wore a hijab.

Why does that matter? Why did I even notice?

Because a few hours earlier I had fallen asleep to the news that a prominent federal politician had given a speech in Canberra expressing highly negative views on migration and multiculturalism. One who had recently asked our nation: “How can you tell me there are good Muslims?”

Big city hospitals can be like the United Nations, people from a broad range of cultures and countries all working together as one (remember “Teamwork makes the dream work”?) which is something I love. Places where multiculturalism is thankfully recognised and appreciated. If it wasn't for Australia embracing immigration I'd still be in hospital, my recovery much slower, or I'd be dead from blood disease and kidney failure. 

An Australian entrepreneur had also been in the news with his views on drastically reducing immigration numbers. When asked about who would fill the roles of health care workers, his reply was: “Oh, they train Australians not working at the moment.”

Brilliant, why didn't anyone else think of this? Is he aware that 'Australians' are perfectly eligible to apply for healthcare positions yet many choose not to (of course, many do and are wonderful at their jobs) and not willing to take on the tremendously difficult work it involves. It requires academic knowledge, diligence, attention to detail, grace, empathy, sympathy, dignity, humility – not every single person is going to be suitable for these roles. 

I don't want someone working out what medication I require to stay alive or cleaning my backside simply because they couldn't find anything else to do or were scared they were going to lose their benefits.

What sacrifices have these dedicated, hard workers from multi-cultural backgrounds made so they are able (and willing) to take care of me and look after my well being? Have they come from far and wide, the other side of the globe? Escaped life threatening trauma and discrimination? Or have they simply travelled from a few suburbs away? And what does that matter?

All I know is these health carers have been happy to stretch out their hand to clasp mine when I'm at my weakest, to call me “my love” while offering assurance, understanding and tenderness while I've been scared. To support me as I shakily point from my hospital bed to the television broadcasting news about bird flu hitting Milawul after I've just been told I have kidney failure and will require dialysis for the rest of my life or a kidney transplant.

“I know you love the animals but the Little Penguins are brave and many will survive like they have for thousands of years,” my nurse assured me, while reaching to calm my mounting distress. “They're strong, just like you, my darling.”

These wonderful people, often women, have to put up with insults, threats, hateful bile and God knows what other crap simply because of their appearance, faith, how they speak or where they were born. All they want to do is take care of others, be professional while living out their lives in peace and safety – the same as anyone else.

I am so grateful to all the medical staff who have cared for me in recent months. My heart-felt thanks to all those who are blessed with a joyous multi-cultural background different to my own. I thank you for bringing your professionalism, tenderness, knowledge, thoughtfulness and culture into my life, even if it was just a few brief moments. 

You have made all the difference to me. In return I hope you feel safe, welcome, appreciated and loved because that's how you made me feel.

This article was written on Milawul. I acknowledge the traditional custodians of the land on which I live and learn, the Bunurong people.