Little time, a lot of pressure, but luck too. As a pediatric nurse, Jeannine Fasold, 49, experienced every day what you can do. But also what nursing shortage really means. She talks to Guido about her saddest experiences, the pandemic and what it takes for something to finally change fundamentally in care.
Dear Jeannine, I’m really happy that you’re here. I think far too little is said about what people like you who work in care do. You came to your vocation late, you were already 40. How did that come about?
I’ve never had the chance to do that before. I’ve always found the job exciting. My mother is a nurse. She always took me to the hospital with her when I was a child.
That shaped you.
And how. I finished school when I was 16. Training as a nurse was out of the question, you have to be 18 for that. That’s why I started something else.
And what was that exactly?
I started an apprenticeship in the city administration office in Wuppertal. In the civil engineering office. I just sat there at the computer or wrote postcodes on envelopes and entered them on a city map. That made me sick. After two years I said: “I can’t do this anymore” and gave up the training.
Everybody says: My God, Jeannine, just finish it, then you’ll have something real.
Clear. As a mother, I would probably say the same today.
Then what?
I went to a factory and made bicycle bearings.
But isn’t that even more monotonous and further away from people?
Not at all. I dealt with many people who were next to me and around me. That was something completely different. When my three children came, the priorities shifted.
Three children, that’s enough to do at first.
And how! And I have a disabled son. He was premature and got spasms from the lack of oxygen. We were often in the hospital as a result. That’s when I realized again how much this job fascinates me and that I really want to do something in nursing. When the three of them grew up, they moved to Regensburg with their dad for the last two years before their training, we were already separated then. That was the point for me to say: I’ll do it now.
You are unskilled to start with geriatric care. Athletic!
I just wanted to see, how’s that even?
There is a desperate need for staff in geriatric care. You definitely learn what care means, but also that it’s a system with very little time, right?
That’s exactly why I’m out after six months. Working in the outpatient area broke my heart.
How so?
Because it is exactly as you say: you have so little time that the most important thing is lost: humanity. For example, I had three minutes to give someone pills, and then I had to go on again.
Three minutes? Oh God, that’s just enough for a “Hello, Ms. Meyer, how are we today?” Unfortunately, before she can answer that, you’re long gone again…
I agree! But the people still had needs: They wanted to talk, to experience closeness or simply wished that someone would stay with them for a while. You don’t do justice to anyone. And it wasn’t any better on the ward in the old people’s home either.
What did you experience there?
My first resident, for example, was a man who could only lie in bed after a stroke. He had pressure sores on his heels, shoulders and elbows. A nursing mistake. And I, as an unskilled assistant, was supposed to treat him.
So you had to do things that you weren’t able or allowed to do. It was clear to you: I have to professionalize it.
Right. I did a one-year training course to become a nursing assistant and then added a pediatric nurse training course. I really wanted to work in this field because of my son because it’s amazing what you can do, what a difference you can make! With the right support, you can free up a lot of resources. Seeing that is totally fulfilling.
Crazy you say that. My father-in-law, dr. Tom Mutters, who sadly passed away, founded »Lebenshilfe« for precisely this reason, the first self-help organization for mentally handicapped people and their families.
For real?
Yes, that was after the war. He took care of many disabled children of former concentration camp prisoners or forced laborers whose parents had been killed or who had been left behind by their parents. At that time, disabled children were considered “idiots” and uneducable. They were housed in homes where no one cared for them. But Frank’s father already knew then how capable these children are. He set up residential groups and showed that disabled and non-disabled children can go to school together. He put inclusion on the social and political agenda. How important was the exchange with others for you as the mother of a disabled child? Was that also a reason for choosing the job?
Definitive. When my son was born, I made a blog for him and got a lot of feedback. You can see that you are not alone and that it strengthens you and others. It’s the same in my job.
What makes your job so special for you?
Every day is different. I work in a ward with children and adults with disabilities. You get an incredible amount in return. From the parents, the relatives and above all the children. They are so incredibly honest and authentic. Even though there are many moments that push you to the limit, there are also so many good ones: especially when a child is able to go home and you know you were part of making it possible.
When did you first experience what the nursing shortage is and what effects it has?
It was a gradual process. I’ve already passed my exams at the ward where I’ve been working until now. Over time, you really realize what care means. More than just operating machines and administering medication. Care is closeness, communication and trust because we are dealing with very intimate situations. But none of that is happening anymore. Some colleagues can no longer even accompany their patients when they die because they have to take care of others. Instead, they put rubber gloves filled with warm water in their hands so they at least have the feeling that someone is there.
And the pandemic has made things worse. Sometimes it takes this big moment to see that things have to change. What happened other than people clapping for you?
Nothing. There was this care bonus, my hate word for 2021. But it is only paid to the employees of the intensive care units. Assistants, service staff, cleaning staff were forgotten. Just like the people on the normal wards, who have to absorb a lot. But we don’t want a bonus at all, we want something to change fundamentally! We need health care reform, and we need it fast, but nobody is doing anything.
I worked in nursing for many years as a teenager and was in the hospital every weekend. That’s why I know how important it is that something finally happens. If you could change three things at once, what would it be?
I would abolish the privatization of hospitals. As long as we’re talking about maximizing profits and shareholders are involved, nothing will change. I would set a starting salary for nurses of 4000 euros. And I would establish a say for nurses in politics.
Now you have drawn a line for yourself and quit your job at the clinic at the end of March. Why?
I am of the opinion that we should no longer support this system as it is. This is of course a paradox, because I say “care is awesome” and still leave the hospital.
But isn’t every individual important right now?
We can’t always just complain and still carry on as before. In order for the system to change, we have to move ourselves. As long as there are people who sacrifice themselves, nothing will change. That’s why I’m switching to public relations to show what care can do.
What do you wish for yourself when you are old or sick yourself?
I want to be able to live freely and independently. Not having to get up at seven o’clock even though I’m still sound asleep, have breakfast at eight even though I’m not hungry, and go to the bathroom at eleven even though I don’t have to. My kids promised me we could do it. My daughter is a nurse – I’m in good spirits.
To freedom! My motto for old age is: awake at the top, tight at the bottom. And if things turn out differently, I wish I could help myself. It must be in there, please.