Care – Sensing Spaces of Healthcare: NHS Sensory Memory Bank

Memory #66

I remember… Working at … an old imposing asylum – red brick and draconian. Today it still services the psychiatric profession, with an acute ward, two rehabilitation wards, and a psychiatric intensive care unit. But all this means is the industrious have installed new shiny lockable spaces into the decaying cadaver of liathon. The old hospital has its own memories and on a night shift it may share them with you .. The building itself … is an institution. Inside is labyrinth of corridors, stairs to old wards… The past is thick on the walls, white, green, and lines on the floor to help guide to the parts of the hospital you are SAFE to go to. The ceilings are high and white, very clean, and yet somehow a feeling not clean sticks on you when you wank through … Huge old radiators still creak into life powered by a huge boiler in the basement. The place appeared to have two temperatures: chilled to the bone and fever heat … Despite all the effort the place had no “human touch” … Hard, cold & hot, large and exhausting, a place where “touch” was not invited as it either meant you were being assaulted or restrained, never cuddled. One of the more subtle cruelties of the hospital was how it used perspective to really make you feel imprisoned. Apart from the obvious locked wards and imposing buildings, it gave the occupant (staff or resident) a beautiful grounds to look at. Ancient trees, field gardens, flowers, so on. Back in the day this was used for real occupational therapy, where residents would farm and maintain the grounds. The food they grew went on the table, the flowers would decorate the ward. But today’s modern and enlightened mental health … instead, residents would look upon these grounds behind secure windows and only leave once Section 17 was arranged … Due to the cold hard surfaces, there was no such thing as quiet or peaceful, only loud, alert, alarm, scream and scratch, click clack down the corridor, laugh with your mate …One day she will be knocked to flats … That makes me smile, the thought of click clackers of old matron walking through an entire floor of flats.

Memory #42

I remember… Coming around after an operation and general anaesthetic. I had never experienced an operation before so this was a very unusual feeling. I remember the nurse getting tapping my shoulder and her saying “you are ok, it is safe to open your eyes”. I was still very groggy, but I knew I was safe & secure, even though I had not fully come out of the ‘FOG’ of anaesthetic.

Memory #43

I remember… The light – bright & welcoming. The atmosphere – busy but efficient & always friendly.

Memory #57

I remember… My wife was expecting our second child. We had to go to the hospital halfway through TV. We rushed into the maternity unit, we rushed to the delivery room and they said “put on a gown you’ll need it”. From leaving home, the first was 7 minutes later!

Memory #24

From 1984

I remember regular meals – the smell of horlicks! Constant noise all day, but no piped music! The feeling of safety and security with many staff, able to chat to you on odd occasions.

Memory #28

From 2020

I remember… The staff were very friendly when I was admitted during lockdown – I was suffering very badly with my mental health. The food was lovely, I remember soup and a chicken burger

Memory #38

I remember… Feeling nauseous, dizzy, as though I was about to faint, feeling scared, loud noises, people talking, machines beeping, feeling confused, cold. But also feeling as though I was safe regardless of the negative feelings & emotions.

Memory #40

From 2019

I remember… The voice of a Canadian student nurse, who I joked around with – was in hospital for 2 weeks.

Memory #3

From 2007

I remember… 11 days after the premature birth of my son in 2007 we were still both in-patients in the hospital’s transitional care unit. I was so tred, and scared, but desperate to be able to breastfeed. When they had time, midwives would try to coach me to get him to latch on, but nothing seemed to work, and I cried a lot each day. On the 11th day, around 11pm, an older, quite grumpy midwife was sitting with me when the baby finally latched on and started to suck. I looked up, and there were tears on the midwife’s face. It was a life changing moment, to feel my son finally getting what he needed from me, and also to understand how much the grumpy-seeming midwife cared about this working. I was so tired, but suddenly could feel some hope and joy coming in to my life again.