Jimmy Frazier - Nurse! Nurse!: A Student Nurses Story

First up was the interview or in NHS speak: Suitability Test.

I put on a dark suit, a pair of polished black Doc Martens and pinned a Remembrance Day poppy to my lapel. It was the smartest Id looked in years.

At the hospital reception I was asked: Whose father are you?

Nobodys! I harrumphed, and explained I was one of the nursing candidates.

Oh, sorry, sir, said the blond supervisor, peering at me through trendy, blue-rimmed glasses. We dont get many applicants looking like you.

George Clooney types? I suggested, though Wayne Rooney was probably more accurate.

You wish, sir! I mean middle-aged men wearing a suit and tie.

In the Selection Day room there were fourteen other candidates. It was a large, light room, midway up a tower block. The only feature, other than desks and chairs, was a shelf of blood pressure machines that resembled an army of midget aliens.

The other candidates were all young women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. I was the only man and the eldest by comfortably a decade, although at times that morning it felt more like several geological eras. Many of the girls wore tracksuits or denim. Four or five were zombied out, listening to iPods. The only sounds were the slop, slop of chewed gum and some distant church bells.

I was sitting next to a teenager who, unlike most of the others, was immaculately dressed in a blue top decorated with seahorses. Her pretty, freckled face was pale as a candle and pinched with nerves.

Dont worry, I said, trying to relax her. Its only a basic Maths and English test.

God, Im so nervous, she replied, biting her lip. All I ever wanted is to be a childrens nurse. Ever since I was little.

Elsa told me about her volunteer work in hospitals over the school holidays, looking after her ailing grandfather and gaining a First Aid certificate. Shed also written a project on Edith Cavell, the heroic wartime nurse shot by the Nazis after helping allied soldiers escape from Belgium.

I felt like a fraud by comparison. All Id done in preparation was watch the boxed set of Greys Anatomy, perhaps the least authentic hospital show ever aired on television. Nurse! Nurse!Its Dr Implausible here, weve got a dozen earthquake victims, awounded deer and a woman who thinks shes Abraham Lincoln. Oh,and Ill see you in the locker room after youre done, you saucy minx.

My own experience had been far from medical. Id spent years odd-jobbing: working on farms, in bars and restaurants, teaching English to the Chinese. I didnt have one member of my immediate family past or present who had worked in medicine and Id never even seen a dead body except on Greys Anatomy. What the hell am I doing here? I thought to myself, not for the first time that morning.

God, Im just so nervous, Elsa repeated. She was becoming increasingly uptight, tapping her foot against her desk.

Dont panic, I said. Youll be fine.

A side door swung open and in shot a small, bearded man with a rucksack the size of a straw bale. He strutted to the front of the class and cavalierly discarded his load.

Good morning, he said, scanning us all. My name is Mr Temple. He smiled menacingly. Im here to tell you that you are mine for the next three years. All mine! Elsa nodded enthusiastically. Turn off those iPods!

A couple of the girls begrudgingly ripped out their earplugs.

Now listen carefully, Mr Temple continued, while prowling between desks. You might have friends who are studying something nice and soft. Something like history, or art, or media. Pah! They get most of the summer off and a long break at Easter and Christmas. At this point he raised his voice. But you, you wont. You get about five weeks. The rest of the time you are in the wards or studying. In other words you are mine! All mine! Am I clear?

Elsa nodded even more enthusiastically. I prayed she never got kidnapped by a cult as she would be brainwashed in no time.

Maybe you like playing sport at weekends, added Mr Temple, perhaps singing in a choir, salsa dancing or, God help us, shopping. Well, thats fine. But nursing will come first. OK? If it doesnt, then feel free to leave now. The door is there. He stabbed a finger in its direction. So go now. Go! Elsa looked miserably at the door, her eyes wide as saucers. I was making a Herculean effort not to laugh. If Mr Temple said, You are mine. All mine! one more time, I felt sure I would.

Did you know the NHS is the largest employer in Europe? barked Mr Temple. And the third largest employer in the world. Did you know? Did you? Elsa shook her head. I joined her this time. I decided I probably shouldnt get kidnapped by a cult either. You are in a privileged position, every one of you. It costs over 11,000 a year to train a nurse, so dont come expecting an easy ride. Every year there are high dropout rates.

Mr Temple banged his fist on a desk. Elsa flinched. Nursing is not all about helping nice little children. Oh, no! Its a hard job you will have to deal with blood, tears, abuse, horrible parents, fear and death. So if its not for you, get out now. Right now. Go on, out! The man really was a charmer. I sensed Elsa was about to pass out shed been expecting a Maths test, for heavens sake.

But, trust me, all of you, Mr Temple softened his voice. If you make it, you will have one of the most rewarding jobs in the world. I really mean that. He smiled, a genuinely warm smile this time. And I hope you will all make it.

Blimey, he had turned into the Nurse Whisperer. Elsa was now beaming with a wattage that verged on celestial.

Right! First the English test, then Maths, snapped Mr Temple, ruining the moment. Id have to get used to this Good Nurse, Bad Nurse routine.

The English test was fine but, having not even looked at an equation for twenty years, I struggled with the Maths. Elsa had clearly breezed through both, and seemed relaxed for the first time that morning.

Right, next were going to have a debate, said Mr Temple, pulling out a handful of cardboard signs from his rucksack. He explained that on each of the signs was a question. For example: Are celebrities bad for our health? Are nurses too posh to wash?

Mr Temple told us to pull our chairs into a circle facing each other. We were then each handed a cardboard sign. Mine read: Should alcohol be banned? And Elsas: Is the media too powerful? Elsa looked nervous again.

The idea was that each of us should speak for five minutes on our subject, but that others could join in, too. First up was a very assured West Indian girl talking about celebrities. All was going fine until near the end when she started talking about George Best.