We always welcome a Letter to the Editor to share with our readers. If you have something you’d like to share, get in touch. This from David Moorse. Ed
Following the recent Panorama revelation of continued abuses within the caring system, (clearly a large sector locally), a number of factors have been mentioned: Low pay levels for carers… but does more money make a cruel person kind? Pressures of time… but does haste make a kind person, cruel?
Perhaps some of the blame lies with the recruitment processes… perhaps part of this process ought to include reading the following poem, written by an elderly lady and found following her death.
Anyone who fails to shed a tear should not go through to the next phase of the selection process.
A crabbit old woman
What do you see nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking when you are looking at me.
A crabbit old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice – “I do wish you’d try.”
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still;
As I use at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brother and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at twenty – my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At fifty once more babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
I’m an old woman now and nature is cruel –
’Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcase a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years all too few – gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see
Not a crabbit old woman, look closer – see ME !