I was 18 when my dad died suddenly of a heart attack. I know now, after working in healthcare for 40 years, that he was already dead in the ambulance on the way to hospital.
My youngest sister was 12 and didn’t come with us to the hospital. When we got back we didn’t know how to tell her what had happened. A couple of days later she went to the newsagents to get a paper and the man working there said: “Sorry to hear about your dad.” She was really angry with us for not telling her. That’s why I’m very sensitive about information and what you do with it, and difficult stories and how you handle them.
Perhaps it was that experience that led myself and a colleague to set up a debrief team for the operating theatres at Great Ormond Street hospital (Gosh).
I am an operating department practitioner. There are around 45 of us at Gosh. We’re a microscopic part of the workforce – the total number of staff at the hospital is 4,500 – but it’s a really interesting and unique career. We work mainly in the operating theatres, caring for patients at all stages of their surgery. However, you will also find ODPs in diverse roles throughout the NHS, including risk management, clinical informatics and resuscitation.
Around 10 years ago a young boy (I remember his name to this day) came in for a procedure but went into cardiac arrest. We tried and worked tirelessly to get him back but he died. The whole room was upset and traumatised, and I get emotional about it even now. Afterwards we spent time with the patient’s family, listening to them and discussing what happened. The team gathered to reflect and consider if there was anything else we could have done. It was a turning point in how we responded as a department.
Death in the operating theatre is rare. Healthcare professionals are really affected when something doesn’t go to plan; they wonder whether they could have done something better or quicker, and constantly analyse their actions.
We now organise a debrief every time something goes wrong, so no one takes work home with them. When my colleague and I started looking into the idea there wasn’t much information about how to approach it. We designed a programme using what little research had been done in the area and filled in the holes ourselves.
We have two people who run a debrief. One leads and the other listens and observes the room. Everyone sits in a circle so there’s no hierarchy and all involved in the patient’s care are welcome to attend. We ask people to state their name and how they were involved in the event. Then a discussion starts and people can ask anything. No one takes notes or blames anyone; these sessions are for the purpose of supporting staff.
Many places in the NHS don’t run debriefs or stand their teams down after a traumatic incident, but if you want the best from your staff you need to support them. Healthcare professionals aren’t robots, we’re not insensitive and we have families of our own. I have children and I can’t help but let some patients get to me. If I see someone with a head of big curly hair, I immediately think of my son.
If you are involved in a procedure that goes wrong you often take it home with you. Maybe you’ll drink a little more or have an argument with your partner. Maybe you’ll even contemplate leaving healthcare and opting for something where you feel you’ll be safe. Healthcare professionals are valuable assets and should be treated as such.
We feel that our debriefing programme works. I certainly feel supported, listened to and valued.
If you would like to contribute to our Blood, sweat and tears series about experiences in healthcare, read our guidelines and get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com
