The Reluctant Complainer

In my mind, I like to think that I am not a complainer. I imagine that I am a picture of English manners and/or passivity. I worry that when it comes to my hospital, I am not seen through my own rose tinted glasses. Sure, on the rare occasion, I may have been vocal about the delays in Daycare, but only on one occasion was I shamefully rude about said delay and I did apologise for my reaction a few days later. Telling people how much they bruised you after they have put a cannula in, isn’t exactly complaining is it? By the same token, telling a few people that a Senior Medically Trained Person has poor people skills, is merely an observation.

I am worried that I am perceived to be a complainer, because whenever my life is interrupted by delays on the 2s now, at least three people apologise to me and more often than not, one of those people is the Medically Trained Person in the fancy Blue and Red outfit. It is of course polite for them to apologise, but there were no apologies to that extent when I was on PADIMAC and my treatment could take four or five hours. And so, I fear I have an unfounded reputation for speaking my mind.

Okay, I did write three letters of complaint to my GP when I was diagnosed, but that was to my GP. I am not one to complain to the lovely people who have taken care of me and continue to take care of me so well over on Huntley Street.

I mean, there was the time I demanded to see the head nurse regarding the quality of the nursing care at the National Hospital of Neurology and Neurosurgery, but that complaint was warranted, because the care they could be bothered to provide really was dire. I followed up my concerns in the ‘other comments’ section of the UCLH survey to boot. Twice.

I really do not complaint. I try to remember the manners passed down from Mamma Jones and, let us face it, I’m very passive.

I suppose my comments to multiple Medically Trained People when I was admitted to hospital during my transplant, could be interpreted as complaints. I was pooing a river and hallucinating green giant lemmings attempting to escape from my stomach by drilling holes with wooden spoons at the time.

The care I receive truly is tremendous. Everybody is super duper nice to me. I like to think this is because I am nice and not because people have secretly badged me as the opinionated fat one with myeloma.

So, as you can see, I really do not complain. I am ever thankful for the care I receive in that wonderful building on Huntley Street. It pains me to think that others would assume anything else when it comes to my being.

That said, a month ago there was an actually an incident that did require complaint. I actually complained. To this day, I feel most guilty about it and I have not stepped foot in the section where the incident occurred since. In short, My Second Favourite Blood Taking Person, whose demeanour is usually so calm and collected, shouted and swore at me whilst directing a needle at my arm. There is more to my tale, but all I will say is that it was unprovoked. I have a witness.

I was not going to complain, not because I am not a complainer, but because I feared it would make me feel uncomfortable when I make my fortnightly journeys downstairs to the Lower Ground floor. I am inherently selfish, so I did not consider the impact had he shouted at somebody else and not me, who as you all know, is as hard as nails. I eventually realised that I already felt extremely uncomfortable about visiting the Blood Test Room because of the incident itself, and when I realised that, I wanted to tell somebody simply because it should not have happened and I should not feel this way about having to have my blood taken. It definitely should not have happened in a cancer centre. The centre is not the place to feel awkward. Just ask their decorator.

I went to a magical window called PAPs in the hospital’ Tower, where I was told that because of what I was alleging, it had to be a formal complaint. And here in lies my guilt. I feel guilty for having to complain and now I am afraid to show my face, not because I fear everybody in the Blood Test Room are now going to be intent on bruising me as much as they can, which I do, but because I am embarrassed. I am very embarrassed about it all.

I am told that I will receive an apology when I next go in, that creates more embarrassment. The thought of it makes me want to convulse in an overdramatic and unnecessary way. I do not want an apology, I want it to have never happened. My Favourite Receptionist has offered to come down with me, which is nice. Clearly, I do not know if this would make me feel more awkward.

Tomorrow, I am going to go and have my bloods done and I will have to keep reminding myself that I did not want to complain. I am not a complainer. I am a reluctant complainer who occasionally does not think before she speaks. Maybe I’ll get that on a t-shirt.

EJB x

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2 thoughts on “The Reluctant Complainer

  1. Deborah says:

    I too try so hard not to complain or make a fuss. I am grateful for the care I receive at UCLH but just sometimes it doesn’t going as well as it should. By highlighting these times improvements can be made that benefit us all. It is tough enough having to put up with what life has thrown our way without the journey made more difficult by slips in compassion even if those times are few and far between. I hate Wednesdays when I leave my home at 6am and often don’t return until after 7pm. The hanging around and waiting for the chemo drug to be ready and the nurses to notice my bleep has gone off and I am waiting for my next infusion of something or another. Never mind the 40+ tablets I have to take that day. We have enough to cope with without any extra hassle.
    Thank you for speaking out I hope all goes OK on your next visit.
    Deborah x

  2. Echo says:

    I have times that I have not complained, and just set there and waited it out as the nurse looked and dug into my veins, she is my favorite nurse too, well she dug and upon giving up, looked and me and exclaimed ” oh, I hurt you, I’m so sorry” my sister who had brought me to my onc appointment said I was a wild shade of Plum. So what do you say, it’s no problem , don’t worry it’s okay, try another vein. Yes that is what I did, my first Bone marrow was under CT and the knock out cocktail didn’t work so I was not sedated no educated on what was to happen, and when I began to speak while in the surgery, my MD almost passed out I guess I scared the living S#!t out of him, he had thought I was asleep. LOL. I don’t perceive you to be a complainer, just a sensible woman with a low tolerance for BULL S#!T , so be happy and speak your mind, “It is not in what you say, but how you say it”
    e.4/2014

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