Still covering up

Almost ten years ago I wrote about Julie Bailey, a whistle-blower who was relentlessly persecuted and harassed after she exposed sub-standard care and unnecessary deaths at Mid Staffordshire NHS Trust.

Supposedly, since then whistle-blowers have received stronger protection and support and can expose malpractice without being treated as the guilty party.

Well, that's the theory. In practice it seems that little has changed and whistle-blowers can still be told to shut up and stop making trouble.

The recent case of Lucy Letby, the nurse who murdered seven babies at the Countess of Chester Hospital and could easily have murdered several more, showed that pointing out wrong-doing can still be seen as a hostile act rather than a necessary warning.

Two medical consultants, Dr Stephen Brearey and Dr Ravi Jayaram, both raised concerns about unexplained infant deaths at the hospital as early as July 2015.

But both were rebuffed constantly by hospital managers. Dr Jayaram was told "not to make a fuss". It wasn't until June 2016, after repeated complaints, that Letby was finally removed from her clinical duties.

Of course it's obvious why whistle-blowers are so badly treated. The members of staff who are at fault are desperate not to lose their good reputation, and in this case the good reputation of the hospital. So they turn on the whistle-blower to save their own skin and they refuse to admit to any mistakes.

There needs to be a new attitude that says it's okay to make mistakes, we all make them, and that admitting mistakes as soon as possible is a positive move and not a negative one. Confessing promptly to mistakes shouldn't damage your reputation, it should enhance it.

How many dangerous mistakes are still being covered up?

Pic: Lucy Letby

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No, I haven't died. Jenny and I have been in Liverpool for the Art Biennial, and to see two old friends in Chester. We had a great time and saw loads of wonderful artworks.

Was my face red

I often ask myself, what was my biggest ever embarrass-ment? I can't think of any really appalling embarrass-ment, the type where you want to fall through the floor and never be seen again. But of course there are myriads of minor embarrass-ments, the sort where I feel a bit of an idiot for a few minutes and then it rapidly becomes a fading memory. To name a few:

1) Driving the wrong way round a roundabout. Yes, I actually did that, though it was only a very small roundabout so no harm done.
2) Driving the wrong way down a one-way street. I've done that several times, to a cacophony of horn-sounding from other drivers.
3) Confidently getting someone's name totally wrong. Happily calling them Rebecca when their actual name is Natalie.
4) Confidently asking after someone's children when they don't in fact have any.
5) Discovering a large and conspicuous stain on my pants after I've returned home from a very smart social event.
6) Daydreaming briefly while someone is talking to me, then finding I've lost the thread and have no idea what they're talking about.
7) Tucking into a meal at someone else's house, then noticing everyone is waiting for the host to start their meal first.
8) At someone else's house, casually opening what I think is the toilet door and finding it's a bedroom with a strange couple in mid-snog.
9) Returning home from a restaurant where the food and service were superb and realising we didn't leave a tip.
10) On my way out of an airport, discovering that in an absent-minded moment I left that brilliant book I was reading on the plane.

At least my embarrassments are usually in front of a fairly small audience and are quickly forgotten. Pity those celebs and public figures who embarrass themselves in front of an audience of thousands or even millions and never live it down because the videos will be circulating on the internet till the end of human existence.

A big fat blank

It strikes me that I have little idea what my parents thought about the whole business of parenting. They said virtually nothing about it and I never asked them. Was it a positive experience or a negative one? Did they enjoy it or did they hate it? I honestly couldn't tell you.

I had little chance to tackle my father on the subject as we were totally estranged for the last twenty years of his life. I had plenty of opportunities to question my mum, who outlived my father by thirty years, but I never did. The subject simply never came up, maybe because we were both afraid of what dark secrets would come tumbling out. And also because my mum was just extremely secretive.

My guess is that they enjoyed bringing up my sister, who was always obedient and well-behaved and cheerfully conventional, while they found me more of a handful because  I played up and answered back and had wayward views on just about everything.

But it's all guesswork because they never confided their real feelings about parenting. For all I know, in the secrecy of their bedroom they complained non-stop about the heavy demands of child-rearing and how inadequate and ignorant they felt. They may even at the worst moments have wondered why they had children at all. Who knows? It's just one big fat blank.

Some of the questions I have:
1) Were they glad they had children, or not?
2) What were the best aspects of parenting, and the worst?
3) Were there times when they were totally at their wits' end?
4) Were there times when they just wanted to get rid of us?
5) Did they feel they weren't really up to the job?
6) Did they feel other parents were much better at it?
7) What was the biggest mistake they made?
8) What would they have done differently?

I'd love to know the answers.

No shame

I'm immune to shame. It's something I just don't feel, ever. I can't imagine what it even feels like. People say "I'm ashamed to be British" or "I'm ashamed of my parents" and I really don't understand what they mean.

It seems to me you only feel shame if you're embarrassed by your own thoughts and emotions and actions, and by other people's responses to them. You think there's something wrong with you for being the way you are, so you feel disgraced, disgusted with yourself, "rotten".

I've never seen it like that. I'm not embarrassed by my own behaviour. Why should I be? It's what comes naturally to me, and I can't stop that. If I make mistakes, it can't be helped. I do the best I can in any situation and if it falls short, that's just bad luck. If other people judge me for my mistakes, I don't care. I know they make as many mistakes themselves, so they've no right to be so judgmental.

It's strange that I pay a lot of attention to other people's opinions - as I don't like to offend or upset anyone - yet those opinions never cause me shame. They might cause me to act differently, or choose my words more carefully, but shame seems like a weird over-reaction.

Why should I be ashamed to be British? I'm not responsible for the actions of 65 million other Brits. If a bunch of them create havoc in some foreign city, it's nothing to do with me. I may share their nationality, but I don't share much else.

And why should I be ashamed of my parents? Your parents are what they are, with all their shortcomings and daft beliefs, and it doesn't reflect on me in any way. I'm a totally different person, and my parents' oddities are neither here nor there.

It might be different of course if I'd done something seriously outrageous. If I was a serial killer or an arsonist or a wife-beater. But my misdemeanours aren't in that league.

Keeping up appearances

We all like to think that we tell it like it is, that we show ourselves as we really are. But the truth is that we spend an awful lot of time "keeping up appearances".

All too often we want to hide the fact that we're feeling embarrassed, or terrified, or guilty, or envious. We want to cover up that colossal mistake, that mounting debt, that weird obsession.

There are things we just can't bring ourselves to divulge, for fear of other people's reactions. So we keep shtum and pretend everything's normal and plain-sailing, nothing untoward could possibly be happening.

Many's the time I've hidden my fright over a work interview, a social event, an expensive repair job, or some situation where I feel hopelessly out of my depth. I conjure up what I assume is a calm, competent exterior, one that says "I'm totally in control, I can handle this effortlessly" and hope the inner terror is safely out of view.

I conceal those dodgy activities that others might find reprehensible or mystifying. Why reveal that wasted £500, that fetish for high heels or those deranged emails if they're only going to ruin someone's good opinion of me? I'll sweep them hastily under the carpet and leave my warmly appealing persona intact.

It's hard to explain why I so often feel the urge to keep up appearances when I know very well that most people will probably be sympathetic. After all, they may be just as terrified and gaffe-prone as me, so how censorious can they be?

Unfortunately there are always some who despite their own fallibilities still take a delight in crowing over other people's. They're the ones I'm nervous about. If there's any prospect of crowing, I'd rather play safe.

Much as I'd love to be totally open, I can't quite manage it. The fact is, some parts of me just aren't flattering enough.

Impatience

I used to think I was a very patient person, always steeped in a sort of Zen Buddhist serenity, unphased by anything. But it ain't true, I'm actually very impatient about a lot of things.

I'm particularly impatient about having to wait for service. If I'm in a phone queue, or a cashdesk queue, or a bus queue, I get very exasperated. It's wasted time I can't use for anything else (unless I happen to have a book with me). Why can't they just employ more staff, provide more buses, speed up a bit?

I know it's not good for my blood pressure. I know I should be more philosophical about things I can't control. I know those concerned are probably doing their best under pressure. But something gets stirred up and irritation takes over.

I also get impatient (or more likely steaming mad) with people who do things wrong. I don't mean minor mistakes like burning the toast. I mean major things like delivering the wrong furniture or charging me twice for something. Why can't they simply check the details properly and take a bit more care? As someone who habitually double checks and makes sure I've "got it right", I don't understand such sloppiness.

But in other ways I have infinite, bottomless patience. Being pretty unconventional myself, I'm very sympathetic to other people's oddities - their strange quirks of behaviour, their outlandish opinions, their eccentric clothing. I'm always curious about why they do what they do, why they think in a certain way, why they defy the usual social norms. I have a huge appetite for human diversity and variety, it's what makes life so fascinating.

And of course I have plenty of patience for my partner, for her myriad little habits and peculiarities, all of which I find endlessly endearing and lovable. Well, I've got to say that, haven't I?