Naomie Harris

Naomie Harris

I was fifteen and filming Runaway Bay, a children’s TV series set on the Caribbean island of Martinique. I was filming with five other kids all around my age and this was the third year in which we had the privilege of spending our summer break simultaneously working and holidaying on the glamorous island. However, this year, unlike the others, I wasn’t having fun. My mind was entirely consumed with the ‘event’ I knew was waiting for me as soon as I got back to the UK.

I had worn a back brace since the age of twelve to try to correct my scoliosis (curvature of the spine), but recently the doctor giving me my yearly review had told my mother and me that my scoliosis had continued to advance and I therefore needed to have the Harrington rod operation if I didn’t want my breathing to be impacted as an adult. The Harrington rod operation would involve the removal of a rib on the right side of my body, deflation of my right lung to access my spine and then the insertion of metal clamps along my spine to try to prevent the curvature from getting any worse. I would have to be in hospital for a month. Words like ‘devastated’ and ‘terrified’ don’t even come close to expressing how I felt at fifteen, never having spent a night inside a hospital before, let alone had an operation.

I arrived at the Royal National Orthopaedic hospital in Stanmore, London, sun-kissed, but totally unrested from my time in Martinique. I had a suitcase packed for my month-long stay and a bundle of nerves held in the pit of my stomach. Needless to say, I did NOT want to be there. As my mum settled me into the ward in preparation for my first night alone in hospital, I made a silent pact with myself that I was going to be out of that hospital in way under a month. I was planning on being the fastest-healing Harrington rod patient in history!

I have so many memories from my stay in hospital (which did in fact end up being a month) … The little boy in the bed across from mine who was having the same operation but had to spend double the amount of time in hospital because his parents were Jehovah’s Witnesses and so wouldn’t allow blood transfusions; the frustration of not being able to do basic things, like walk or sit up on a chair; the huge Edwardian windows that flooded the ward with light; the smell of disinfectant; the challenge of trying to sleep in a ward full of children making noises all night; my mum having to work but always managing to be by my side. But the strongest and most impactful of all of these memories are of the compassionate faces, encouraging words and embraces of the incredible NHS nurses.

I’d arrived at the hospital full of bravado, desperately trying to hide the terror I felt about my impending operation from my mum and everyone else I knew. I’d managed to fool a lot of people – they called me ‘brave’ and said I was ‘coping so well’ – but my act didn’t fool the nurses at Stanmore for a second. On my first night, as soon as my mum had said goodbye and headed home, one of the nurses came and sat on my bed. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but it was something to the effect of, ‘You know, Naomie, it’s OK to be scared, every single child here was afraid before their operation.’ It wasn’t really so much what she said that affected me, but the insight with which she said it. It was like she understood what I was feeling without me having to say anything, and she gave me full permission to let down my guard, to stop pretending to be stronger than I actually was and to allow myself to be a scared kid. That nurse will probably never know just how powerfully healing that moment was for me.

There were so many other moments like that with different nurses that I vividly recall from my time in hospital … The love wordlessly communicated to me after my operation through the care with which nurses cleaned and tended to my scars; the patience with which my arm was held as I was guided around the ward as I struggled to learn to walk again; the gentleness with which I was helped to wash and clothe myself while I healed, and the many, many moments when I cried and was held and comforted.

Nearly three decades later, I could look back on that period of my life as grim and challenging, but because of the compassion and care I was shown by those NHS nurses I remember it instead with gratitude. At a time when I had no choice but to let my guard down and put my faith in others, I was shown that there are so many people in this world who are kind, who care and who are there to help. It’s one of the most powerful lessons I’ve ever learned. To me, those nurses were as close to living, breathing angels as I’ve got and I will be forever grateful to every single one of them.

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