Miranda Hart

Miranda Hart

Camaraderie and Comedy

A hospital waiting room is not a place we choose to spend time in. It’s not somewhere we roll up to for the ‘good times’ – unless you have a particular penchant for The Reader’s Digest and dubious vending machines. They are places of boredom at best, but often a heady mix of palpable worry and ominous expectation. So, when we hear our names called for our turn into the unknown, how we are greeted and treated as we leave that menacing waiting room is crucial. We are in much need of a kind face and a reassuring word to counter the internal wobbliness.

One waiting room I remember in particular was in 2010 when two bizarre events collided in my life – an increased level of fame and the need to have an endoscopy and colonoscopy. If you want the layman’s terms – a camera down my throat and a camera up my bum. You’re welcome! Knowing that we were all there for one or both of these intrusions meant very little eye contact in the waiting room and a certain level of collective bottom wiggling on the plastic chairs. My name was called out. My turn for the unmentionable. Off I sloped, anxious, in dread. And I really was anxious, dreading both procedures. (Awful word – procedure. It’s deeply suspicious; I don’t like it!)

But within a few minutes of meeting the nurse, my unease was, well, easing and I found myself with an unexpected smile on my face. I was indeed greeted with an extraordinarily kind face that began to placate my distress of being in a situation I just simply did not want to be in. I don’t know about you, but hospitals for me bring out a very raw, childlike fear, a feeling of wanting to escape, of being on the edge of not being able to cope at all and having to dig very deep into my resources to simply stay in the room without a massive tantrum. I am not at my best in hospitals. So, to find myself smiling was pretty extraordinary and unshakeable proof that it’s the workers within these institutions that make the entire difference. Without their sacrifice and love, the necessary care would simply not be there for us in order that we don’t escape, but get treated and stay well.

The reason for my smiling was perhaps a unique one – the nurse said that the ward had been excited to hear that I was coming in that day. She then proceeded to say that they all drew straws as to who was going to treat me. As I had just been informed that the first item on my treatment agenda was to have an enema (it’s best you look that one up), I replied: ‘Well don’t tell me whether you got the short or the long straw, because both are terrible answers!’ If she got the short straw I would remain constantly apologetic, and if she got the long straw then it indicated that she wanted to, umm, become familiar with my bottom. Oh god, are you still reading?! She laughed, I smiled and she continued to treat me with incredible gentleness, guiding me each step of the way with clarity of information and holding my hand when I requested it.

You might think I had preferential treatment because of the whole fame thing. And before I was put into a mild drug-induced state I had the same question. But I looked around and, not a bit of it, was the answer. All the nurses were showing the same level of attention to even the most cantankerous of patients. There was one who acted like a furious dowager duchess and I remember thinking that Maggie Smith could play her perfectly if they made a film of this time in my life – the drugs were now kicking in … (That’s a film NO ONE WANTS TO SEE!)

This silly story is all to say thank you. Thank you, dear NHS. For each and every one of you within it that sacrifices so much to provide a unique skill essential to every one of us. We may not like hospitals, but we love you. It is your shared purpose, your togetherness in your uniquely pressured job, your support for each other, that gives you the strength to be the best you can be for us. That day in 2010 may have had a ward teeming with people in discomfort due to humbling and horrifying procedures (there’s that word again), yet all I saw was a jolly camaraderie, which in my case produced some much-needed comedy. It’s a smile between nurse and patient I will always be grateful for.

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