Jayne Dowle: Hunt's empty slogans and reality of NHS pressures

Sitting there in the waiting room last week with Jack and Lizzie, I watched everything happening around me. And it struck me that that a good hospital – which Barnsley Hospital is – operates like a well-oiled machine.

Everyone who works there seems to know exactly what they are doing, and are on a mission to do so. From the consultants to the cleaners, their roles and responsibilities all fit into one constantly-moving jigsaw. I know that beneath the surface, there will be all kinds of tensions – which I will come onto shortly. But as far as patients are concerned, there is an overall feeling of security.

It also struck me that Jeremy Hunt can’t have a clue what really goes on in hospitals. If he did, as Health Secretary, he wouldn’t have presided over such a damaging and deeply divisive programme of reform, which has seen the introduction of a “seven-day NHS” which has now been discredited even by his own department.

Documents leaked by the Department of Health’s working group show that the lack of funds and staff for a “seven-day NHS” mean that the glib pronouncements made by Hunt at the last General Election are quite simply, undeliverable.

In an unpublished risk assessment, the “Seven Day Services Governance Group” advisors state in bald terms that it quite simply might not be possible to find enough “skilled/trained staff” to safely deliver on his promises.

Even worse, the leaked documents suggest that although the seven-day plans are already in full swing, those in charge of the programme are not in full agreement. And this is people’s lives we are talking about – people like my dad, and my children.

As patients, they deserve to be treated as priority. Yet, in the terrifying new world of Jeremy Hunt’s NHS, they are regarded as little more than numbers. If what they need doesn’t fit the cost criteria they won’t get it.

For example, dad has been in hospital nearly a week now and is still awaiting an X-ray on his foot. Although his problems are centred around his heart, he has some orthopaedic issues which doctors feel could be contributing to his state of health.

It’s unspoken, but we all know that the delay to such a simple procedure is being caused by only one thing; lack of resources. There won’t be enough staff and enough spaces to wheel him down to the X-ray room.

Meanwhile, the doctors and nurses who look after him are soldiering on. Again, when I look at them going about their stressful business, I wonder if Jeremy Hunt has a clue what really makes hospitals work. Does he know, for example, that there are things happening which he cannot even begin to comprehend? The preponderance of male nurses, for example.

Not until dad started being poorly did I realise just how many men are choosing nursing as a career. Apparently, according to the Nursing and Midwifery Council, there are now more than one in 10 male nurses in the profession, compared with one in 100 in the earliest days of the NHS.

There is something about men undertaking this highly-responsible and demanding role which is particularly poignant, given the mess which Hunt is presiding over. With all those choices in front of them, they are choosing to opt for a career which demands 110 per cent understanding, care and compassion. They are prepared to offer patience and empathy, and what do they get in return?

Constant pressure and demands from a system which is squeezing them for everything it can get. When I observe the diligence of Declan, the charge nurse who looks after dad, I can’t help but wonder what must be going through his mind. He would be too professional to say, but I bet there are times when he feels like giving Jeremy Hunt a piece of his mind.

In the grand – and now clearly flawed – plan to revolutionise the NHS which Hunt is in charge of, nuances such as these are lost. Yet, the growing number of male nurses is contributing towards an NHS which is responsive to the needs of patients. Not just in technical elements, but other, less measurable ways, such as the banter which raises the spirits of patients like my dad when they are having a particularly bad day.

And, these men are setting an example to youngsters such as my son, who until recently might not have considered a “caring profession” as a serious career choice. I’ve seen Jack watching them carry out patient observations, administer medication and speak with authority to the doctors.

We’ve talked about whether this might be a career choice he would consider himself – and he’s quite interested, to be honest. The question is, if he does decide to pursue it, what kind of NHS would be left for him to work in?