An itch (in an uncomfortable place)

Last night when I finally got to my bedroom, I was itchy. In all sorts of places, some far less comfortable than others. Let me indulge myself and share my itchy spots (its okay, this blog isn’t illustrated so no need to close your eyes).

The milder itchy spots reminded me of what work I am doing and that it actually felt good to hear others talk about similar work. It was almost like a tickle under my arm – actually, yes, a tickle not an itch. The itches that hurt took me to places where we spoke about people not getting good quality care, people who told us what we wanted to hear and then went home and did what they always do, no matter how risky. Something like the itch you get from a mosquito bite, the little bumps that turn red and sore and get worse the more you think about them (or the more you try not to think about them!). And then there were the blistering rashes. The very painful places that we may not even want to talk about. The realisations that come from knowing what WE do may be wrong, unhelpful, unethical, and all the other ‘un-s’ you can think of. The itch that festers into an ulcer because people may die because of what we (and others) are NOT doing.

Events like these make us think about things like these. Make us move about uncomfortably in our seats when the itch gets to close to home (wherever that may be… use your imagination). Ahh, and then we hear something really positive. The anti-itch cream is applied, and we are reenergised again, even if only for just that moment between this itch and the next.