Maramena Roderick: When official policy clashed with a family’s grief

Maramena Roderick

Elizabeth Irahapeta Wood, fondly known as Dolly, never expected favours. Neither does her family.

But everyone deserves a little understanding at all times, let alone when they are grieving and vulnerable.

What unfolded at Palmerston North Hospital in the early hours of Thursday, February 10, was simply rotten, exacerbated by the fact that there were no easy answers.

Ten members of Dolly's family were evicted by a security guard at 1.37am from the hospital's accommodation unit, Te Whare Rapuora. They were discussing funeral arrangements for Dolly, who was in a ward dying of lung cancer. But hospital policy states only three members per family to ensure there is always room for others.

Dolly's whanau was sent packing. It would be deeply satirical if it wasn't, in reality, so awful.

Each side had a valuable point. Maybe that's the lesson. Maybe it's not the actual problem but the way we deal with it and treat others in the process that matters.

"The whole thing was a shocker frankly. It deepened our grief," says Dolly's brother, Iraia Peni. "We just needed to be near her, to say 'your family are all here and we love you'. We don't want this to happen to any other family."

Common sense would be, okay, wait for the morning. If my family were getting the boot, you would hear my haka in Bluff.

On the other hand, if I had booked and arrived to find no room at the inn, you'd hear me in Bethlehem.

But ever noticed how it's impossible to argue with someone who is calm and reasonable with a modicum of sympathy?

Two other families had booked beds that evening but had not arrived, says Dolly's family. To them, the eviction was aggressive, intimidating and humiliating.

The security guard was doing his job. But this is a hospital. People are sick. People are dying. Families are walking an emotional tightrope. Surely there's still room for decency.

"It was the harshness. I looked at my watch and thought is that the time? Is this really happening?" says another brother, Bob Peni, who is also the principal of Ruakaka Primary in Whangarei.

"I try to teach our kids that we are all people, no matter who you are or where you come from. I remind them to respect others. Do things that help people. Be nice to people. It's made me question what is happening to human values."

Many hospitals in New Zealand now have a whanau unit for families of all creeds and race.

Often a special bond develops between strangers thrown together by the common suffering of a loved one.

I have seen a family step aside for others. I have seen a family cook for the entire unit. I have met wonderful, caring souls.

I have never met a family who actually chose to be in this situation and those who accuse families of using the units like hotels (hard to believe but true) need brain surgery.

Nor have I seen one family complain about the numbers of another, especially when a loved one is dying. But I accept it can happen.

Unfortunately, no place is immune to thoughtlessness.

While leaving Pak'N' Save last year, I got that heart-stopping tap on the shoulder and was told to follow supermarket security.

In the office a super bully laid down the law. "We are not going to call the police but we have your photo", he said, waving an enlarged print. "We know who you are but we're going to let you off with a warning this time."

My great crime? I had wrongly coded the kumara in the self-pricing vegetable section.

I had coded the cheaper orange kumara when it should have been gold or something. The error was corrected at checkout, paid and it could have ended there with an apology from yours honestly.

Instead, a security guard intimidated, refused to accept it was a genuine mistake and everything went down the toilet.

He was intent on teaching me a lesson and I was ready to teach him a few other uses for kumara.

I now appreciate the good apples - the security guards who deal with conflict superbly. They become crucial when delivering hospital policy to a tired and grieving family in the middle of the night.

That's when policy really comes into play. It resolves rather than rules at all costs.

Dolly's family did not fit the extended whanau of first cousin, third, fourth and fifth, where numbers can swell to 50 or more. Nor do they want their grief turned into a cultural issue.

They were a husband, three sons, a daughter, grandchildren, siblings and a 75-year-old aunt.

"A security lady called us a crowd. That hurt. We are not a crowd. We are a family like any other family who just needed to be treated with a little dignity."

The hospital website describes Te Whare Rapuora as a "Search of Wellbeing".

Finding some compassion wouldn't go amiss either.

Dolly was 56. On Thursday, February 10, she deteriorated.

"We talked with the doctors and then we whispered in her ear whether she would like to go home. She couldn't do much at all but she slowly nodded and smiled."

On Saturday the 12th she slipped into a coma and died surrounded by her family in Levin the next day.

Her funeral was held last Wednesday.

This sorry saga underlines that words can be hurtful, written or verbal, intentional or not.

For that reminder, I thank you Dolly.

The wellbeing, the healing is not only about grieving for those who have passed.

It is about taking care of those who are left behind.

Amine

* Maramena Roderick, a Wellington journalist, is a former Herald reporter and Europe correspondent for TVNZ.