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19 September 2019
The International Storytelling
for Health Conference at the National Waterfront Museum, Swansea.
Once upon a time, there
was a conference, unlike any other conference that had been before. The
business suits and ties were transformed into floral prints, casual dress and
funky outfits. When night was nigh, I walked in to hear a metaphorical story of
princesses, soldiers and devilish monsters. Accompanied by a violin and cello,
this performance is presented to an audience with athletic imaginations.
A Norwegian woman is
introduced. A bright yellow chiffon dress appears, with a clash-tastic pink
shawl. She combines physical performance with Nordic mythology, intertwined
with the heart-breaking story of her son, a fellow storyteller, getting mouth
cancer.
Hosted by Arts for Health,
this is the second Storytelling Conference for Health to be held. The
conference runs with a morning introduction session, a tea break, followed by
several parallel sessions across different nearby sites, each with a theme. Attendees
are encouraged to go where they will be inspired most and where they will want
to share their story. There is an atmosphere of creativity, welcomed critique
and compliments. Requests to share and delve deeper into someone’s story are
the ultimate gestures of flattery, breaking the British barriers of personal
space.
You may be imagining a
room full of archetypal hippies, Professor Trelawneys and poets in
hand-me-downs, with a vegan buffet at lunch time. There was a vegan buffet – it
was delicious.
PowerPoints are barely acknowledged
as stories are told from the mind and mouth. There is a myriad of thoughts,
words and sounds. The stories are sculpting the minds of the healthcare
professionals, service users, patients of past-times, relatives and industry
workers who are attending. It is a world away from the computers and case notes
we are used to. The performances take time and are purposefully indulgent. The
social class does appear constant, with the few specks of diversity speaking on
behalf of their unrepresented community. I hope not to hear too many stories from
an already outspoken group. I learn of digital stories, patient experiences and
powerful recitals, evoking something beyond an endeavour to employ teamwork and
leadership skills.
Storytelling is described
throughout the conference as an innate ability. Related to anecdotes and ghost
stories, the familiar warmth of the event strikes me the most. Ever told a
story to a group of friends and had an appreciative response? It is a
conference of that amplified.
Some may think, well,
what’s the point? Just go down the pub and discuss the week’s shenanigans. But
in healthcare, telling a story of a previous patient to comfort someone who has
just been diagnosed, can be the difference between alienation and peace of mind.
It is the influence of the lived experience, with no reference made to
statistics. The culture of the conference is to allow someone to take control
of the narrative, especially for patients. Storytelling is praised as an
ameliorative mechanism.
My first session covers “Writing
for Wellbeing”. Speakers talk of the mindful effects of writing and how they
can feel isolated without it; their motto being write, rest, restore. I can
relate to that feeling, knowing the delightful relief of manically typing when
I have an urge to write. There is very little fear of humiliation or shame,
with all speakers repeatedly describing the conference as a safe space. Chairs
talk of the courage needed to write as we claim our validity through telling
the story. There is a willingness for self-responsibility.
One speaker sums up storytelling in an insightful way. She sees it as an equaliser. Whether there is direct involvement, sympathy or just an interest, everyone loves to listen to a story.
Anne-Marie et al. present BORDERLINE
Three women stand in a
line. The first steps forward and tells us, “This performance is dedicated to
Kirsty.”
Anne-Marie: a mental
health nurse for 30-odd years turned lecturer, emotionally bombards you with
her performance, recounting childhood to present day.
She begins with a punch in the gut, highlighting the woes of the NHS amidst our Brexit crisis, and scouts you with a plea bordering that of a beggar. With the industry growing, Anne-Marie foresees the mass anxiety that will cloak the world when the demand overwhelms the supply of mental health staff. Brief glimmers of smiles and laughter from her childhood story draw you in, sucking on the lollipop she’s gifting you, until she snatches it away, saying we’ve not yet done enough to deserve such sweetness. Exposing her own family affiliations and influences, she bares herself and her passion, illustrating the generational developments within mental health. Her devotion for her work is evident.
She questions safeguarding and support for the healthcare professionals themselves, the burnout we have all become accustomed to on the news. Nurses are the ones who make you feel comfortable, who don’t step out of line and are trusted. Beneath Anne-Marie’s words is a sense of desperation and frustration. She is someone who has been silenced by the reputation of her job and seems exasperated. She is an unusual witness and her views are refreshing to hear.
Nicky: an extraordinary
woman with nothing but great intentions, and clearly no stranger to the stage.
She is telling Kirsty’s story, a service user.
Borderline personality
disorder (BPD) is an inescapable chaos. Consuming and controlling, it affects
more women than men, and to be diagnosed you must tick five of nine boxes. But
what is it?
With rapidly increasing
diagnoses of BPD, it is clear from Kirsty’s account it is being stigmatised at
an equally fast rate. Her stories prove the extent of just how much BPD has
become a label. Doctors have refused to treat her, and she has been prescribed
the same medication that she overdosed on. Kirsty is, understandably, at the
brink of her trust in the system. She wants the realities to be known and to be
treated as a stand-alone patient. She wants mental health to become as routine
as blood pressure and heart rate, and I can’t see why it shouldn’t. Nicky,
whether down to her acting ability or her own personal experience of mental
health problems, is conveying the helplessness felt by many service users who
want to feel understood and not judged.
Sylwia: a newly qualified nurse who will make the profession proud.
Originally from Poland, Sylwia gives us hope. Enthusiastically recounting the “colourful” people she was drawn to back in her hometown, she laughs about the influences of religion and being called “crazy” on them. It’s refreshingly palatable.
And then, abruptly, she reminds us why we’re there. Her friend, pushed to the edge by ridicule, died by suicide with no apparent forewarning.
She relates the struggle of mental health to the language barrier she experienced when she moved to Wales. Sylwia wants us to unite in our shared difficulties and daily challenges, where some may need more support to manage than others. She does not segregate her patients from the general public, understanding the ease of slipping into a mental health emergency.
During Sylwia’s nursing
training, Kirsty came into a lecture and told her story. For Sylwia, this was a
pivotal moment. She became emotional and felt a dynamic change amongst the
cohort. Others began to share their stories, and the importance of holistic
care and non-judgemental consideration were emphasised. Sylwia has embarked upon
her nursing career with change in mind, a desire to smash borders. I have no
doubt she will succeed.
Together, they show a
collaborative approach to mental health services; a group of friends who share
a passion to make others aware of this pressing issue by telling their untold
stories. It is their successive call for your bare-below-the-elbow arms that
compels, knowing each perspective is just as important as the last.
Kirsty intended to
perform her story herself at the conference, however unfortunately, her mental
health has deteriorated. This is a poignant point that screams louder than any
of the stories told on stage. We wish her all the best and hope for a safe recovery.
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