Lessons learned from Karin Grech Hospital
I went to a concert this summer and saw thousands of people cheering for one person - one person who played music.
A few hours earlier, I had been visiting a loved one at Karin Grech rehabilitation hospital, and had watched nurses quietly attend to every patient’s needs: from feeding them to cleaning them.
It was a stark contrast to the cheering crowds. These practically immobile patients, confined to their beds, cheered on the nurses and carers in their own way, with consistent, quiet thank-yous.
The same nurses who are sometimes insulted simply because they are not Maltese, as was recently pointed out by the nurses’ union.
Let’s be clear: Karin Grech Hospital is a culture shock.
After weeks at Mater Dei Hospital - with its longer and more flexible visiting hours and better infrastructure - moving to Karin Grech comes with preconceived ideas.
The place is run-down. The visiting hours are stricter, and understandably so.
But the people who work there - the bulk of them - shine. Their dedication, compassion and understanding are startling.
Patients who were once strangers share rooms, and what starts off as discomfort soon transforms into support: patients supporting and cheering each other on, sharing everything from wipes to chocolates.
Relatives share valuable information about how the ward works with newcomers who are lost and disoriented.
Then comes the bonding - sharing the stories that brought them to hospital and to Karin Grech: stories of strokes and falls, but also stories of lives lived, families, villages and everything in between.
And then there are the small acts of kindness: someone pressing the buzzer to call a carer for a roommate who cannot press it themselves. People saying the rosary together.
There is a lot of pain. Spending months away from home and loved ones. Seeing a loved one there. It hurts.
But there is also a lot of love… and support from relatives, friends and colleagues.
So much love.
Then there are the lonely people - the ones whose beds are seldom, or rarely, surrounded by relatives. And the staff make an extra effort to help them feel seen and supported. Women and men whose children are too busy to visit. People who might otherwise go through their days largely alone.
And through all of this come more personal revelations.
Like seeing an immense strength in someone you never knew had it.
Seeing what can only be described as ‘quiet strength’ in that loved one - my mum - who not only works hard at her recovery and physiotherapy, and tries to remain positive - but somehow turned that positivity towards supporting other patients too. All the while, she remained respectful and thankful to every member of staff, knowing all of their names.
I get why people cheer for one person who makes great music. And for this, that person requires a setup: a stage, lights, sound, smoke machines… the whole infrastructure.
What I don’t understand is why we don’t seem to offer the same kind of en masse praise to all those people who work hard, every day, to support their fellow human beings - often without the necessary tools, infrastructure, and resources.
The people who feed us when we cannot feed ourselves. Who clean us when we cannot clean ourselves. Who answer the buzzer. Who listen. Who reassure. Who notice when someone is lonely.
The way we see and treat these people - and value their work - is in dire need of rehabilitation.
Yes, the building needs refurbishment. There needs to be a massive injection of resources, including human resources and, perhaps, some reviewed processes.
But more needs to be done to recognise, appreciate and thank the people who work there: nurses, carers, doctors, physiotherapists, occupational therapists and so many others.
Their work deserves recognition. It deserves attention. It deserves respect.
Maybe they deserve a standing ovation too.