Recently I was unfortunate enough to have to pay a visit to a Dublin Hospital emergency ward. I have read and heard all the stories about how horrific an experience staying in A&E can be but somewhere you always seem to wonder if it could really be that bad. It is.

 Without any doubt I can honestly say that the conditions our Nurses and Doctors work in and the experience that sick members of the public are expected to go through is truly unbelievable. I was fortunate enough in that whilst in A&E I was in one of the Clinical Decision Units (CDU), a small little alcove of up to four beds to one corner of the A&E. But to walk through the rest of the area and to hear the sounds of a night in that environment quite honestly makes you afraid to get sick. I have no idea how the doctors and particularly the nurses cope with working in these conditions. When you see the bureaucracy involved and outright bizarre management decisions making their jobs even more difficult you would wonder why they don’t just pack up their stethoscopes and walk out the door.

I left the hospital with new found respect and admiration for the frontline staff, nurses and doctors. I couldn’t do a job in those conditions and I don’t know how they do. But I am grateful they can.

Before I go any further let me lay some things out in the open.

I am in my thirties and fortunate enough to have medical insurance to some degree. It’s not the highest policy but it is medical insurance. I was assigned to the CDU on my first night while they awaited a bed on a ward in the main hospital. Essentially I was admitted and under the care of the consultants as opposed to being caught in the in-between status of an A&E patient. Finally, whilst in a lot of pain I wasn’t in a situation where blood or other bodily fluids were flowing from my body, altogether far more distressing and embarrassing situations to be in when you are sharing your living space with complete strangers.

During the recent election, and indeed during the local elections before it and the general election before them and pretty much every other opportunity our elected officials have had to speak to the voters, health has always been a major issue. For the vast majority of the public there is a very simple, straightforward equation that governs a lot of what they do, UNHEALTHY OR ILL   = I AM UNLIKELY TO BE HAPPY.  Sounds simple doesn’t it?

 So if people accept this then the logical conclusion is that they need to be healthy to have a chance of being happy.  And if they are unfortunate enough to become ill then they like to have some degree of confidence that someone will look after them and try to get them back to health, and happiness.

But people do not have that confidence in the current health system. It is viewed an s a management heavy dinosaur that is preoccupied with costs and money and as a result views the patient’s condition as secondary. It is run as a business where the provision of care is a service. I am not saying that service provision cannot be run as a business but there are different priorities.

If I am selling computers I am focussed on getting as many units through the doors for the highest price possible.  You cannot run a health service like that. 

The health service needs to be concerned with the patient’s needs and try to make them as comfortable as possible and then as healthy as possible in as short a time as is prudent.

From my stay in hospital I can say this isn’t the case in the current system. It isn’t the nurses and doctors that are creating this. Nor is it the individual managerial and support worker. It’s the culture that has been allowed to develop over time and it urgently needs attention.

During my stay I witnessed the horrors of overcrowded emergency ward, where people are sitting on seats for days and sleeping on trolleys, three deep in a corridor for days on end. If it isn’t a breeding ground for spreading illness then I don’t know what is. People of all ages and sexes sharing the same close living environment and the only connection they had was the misfortune to be ill at the same time. The facilities aren’t there for the wards to cope with the levels of people involved. In that scenario it’s no wonder that people lose patience and in some cases tempers. That’s not excusing their behaviour or actions but it does go some way to understanding it. Everyone has a breaking point and it’s clear to see how some of these people had reached theirs. Despite all this the nurses and doctors did their upmost to fulfil their roles, but throughout it all there was a looming sense of frustration and annoyance, even anger that they are being forced to work in these conditions.

 I understand that as a country we are broke. We are hurtling towards an abyss financially and as a result everything has to be cut back. But we need to focus on what is important (health & education for example) and not on what appears to be popular to our continental brethren in the markets. We have reached the stage whereby our politicians are taking the care their ill voters need and pawning it to pay off bankers and investors who took a risk and who are no longer prepared to accept that risks can sometimes go bad. It can’t come as a surprise to anyone as for the past couple of decades the most heard expression in Ireland is “investments can go down as well as up”.

Yet we have sectors of our community who are prepared to place everything on black and then suffer sudden colour blindness when it rolls a red. They want to bet it all on the toss of coin. So long as the coin has two heads and no tails. I doubt very much that if we all went into Paddy Powers and looked for our losing bets to be refunded we would be met with a smile and cash being handed over. Nor do we expect them to. When I placed a bet on number 7 I did so in the full knowledge there were 9 other horses in the race that were also trying to win. When my choice didn’t win I have to accept that and take the loss. But that rule doesn’t seem to apply to investors. These people were aware of the risks and won’t accept the consequences.  I know many pension plans and the like are tied up in this but that is a separate issue as to the competency of the pension fund administrators.

What our financial governors don’t seem to grasp is that if they have a bowl of money and keep dipping into it to repay the losing gamblers then when our health or education systems come looking for money in order to stay afloat the bowl will be empty.

So what can we do about it? Something needs to be done and as a father of two I worry about my kids getting ill in the current system. We have some experience of this and as with my stay I have the utmost respect for the nurses and doctors who do an incredible job under ridiculous circumstances.

 I believe the following, in no particular order, would go some way to helping restore a health system that we can all trust in. I am probably wrong as I am not one of those people elected to govern us, but I don’t hear anything remotely like a suggestion from anyone in the Oireachtas.

Change the culture in the Hospitals. Money, while important, cannot be the deciding factor.

• Allow our hospitals to decide where their budgets go. If they have a capital budget and decide they don’t need it, let them divert that money into care and front line support.
• Revisit the structures in the hospitals. There needs to be an acceptance that front line staff are the most important asset of the hospital.
• Understand that if you don’t help an ill person they are not going to get better. The problem is just postponed until the cure is provided.
• You can’t make decisions about something you don’t understand.
• Every member of the Oireachtas should be forced to give up their private health insurance. That way they will be encouraged to make decisions through the fear of having to go through the current public system.
• The minister for health should spend a weekend as a “patient” in an A & E ward. This is not a suggestion for a great photo opportunity. This is going through the A & E as if they were any ordinary patient.
• Ensure that the managers in hospitals understand that if you take staff from one area to help somewhere else you create problems for the remaining staff. This happened when I was there and the frustration it created for the nurses remaining in A&E was understandable as they suddenly had to cover three roles.
• The government should publish a clear numbered list of their priorities. That way it is simple to see whether health gets priority over roads, whether education gets the nod over sport, and exactly where on their list of priorities they slot repaying bankers who were bad at their jobs.

We need a dramatic change in our approach, our culture and our ethos. It’s as if the country needs a standstill moment, where we all just look around us and realise what’s truly important. If we do we will understand what we need to target and how we can get a system and society we can be proud of.

There is no magic cure for the health service. It’s going to be a long, tough road before we get a structure we need and crave. The same applies for the economy. There are tough decisions that need to be made. I am in agreement with the politicians on that one. However I cannot agree with their approach that as a nation we can neglect and abuse the core services that will allow us to grow and flourish as a nation. If we do turn our back on our nurses and doctors can we really expect them to be there for us when we need them most?

Children and questions are two inseparable parts of the one thing.

You can’t have children and not be regularly amazed by the depth and frequency of their questions. The beauty is in the development of their minds and personalities as they constantly question everything and everyone as they grow and mature through their formative years. And just in case you think that something is amiss if your child isn’t asking the questions, relax. There isn’t. Nine times out of ten they are standing behind the person who asked the question nodding in agreement like the wizened sages they will become in their later lives.

The Disbelievers we encounter (anyone without children who will stand staring in disbelief at the wit and wisdom of the younglings) are frequently left wondering how parents put up with the endless interrogations. When my Disbeliever friends ask me I merely shrug and claim ignorance of any secrets to surviving the onslaught. I never, ever tell them that although kids don’t come with off switches, parents are very good at developing a little muting switch in their own heads. Nor do I let them into the ultimate, if somewhat childish, retort that most of us parents resort to from time to time, which is answering every question with another question. I am sure there are some reading this who will be aghast at the thought of such mental torture being inflicted on Boo or Beanie, but honestly it hasn’t affect them …….much!

So what questions are we referring to?  Heres a sample of the current favourite questions from Boo, to  which beanie pays great attention and nods with the wisdom of her Fifteen months.

Are we there yet? - Asked repeatedly when on a long, medium or even short car journey. I have found that the frequency of the question is related to the length of the journey and the proximity to your destination. The closer you are the more frequent the question until in the last few miles it is like a stuck record looping on the one phrase. The response to kill that is simply to answer “Yes” as you motor along leaving the children staring out the window wondering where they are, for a minute at least.

Why can’t you drive faster Daddy? - This is usually thrown at me as I travel at the speed limit and we see the other cars speeding past in the outside lane. There isn’t a response to this that Boo will accept as if I’m not allowed to go faster she wants to know why the others are allowed. This frequently leads to Boo shouting at the other cars that they are “BOLD!”

Why? - The most common of questions. When used by the children in an investigative manner it is wonderful. It brings on different emotions when it is used to question every request you make of them. Again a simple response is “Why Not?” The look of mild confusion on their little faces is a wonder to behold.

Do you have a baby in there? - In fairness to Boo this wasn’t one of her questions. As I collected her from Montessori one afternoon her friends in the class came over and said hello. Then one piped up and pointing to my overweight belly asked this question. When the teacher told him that wasn’t polite and that I didn’t, he responded that another kid’s mummy had a baby in her belly and she wasn’t as fat as he is.

Who will be your little baby when I am grown up? - Common topic at the moment for Boo is who is going to be our little babies when she and beanie grow up. She is far from impressed by the response that they will always be our little babies. In fact she looks at me as if I have just said enough for her to have me committed.

Where’s your Gran and Granddad? – Incredulous disbelief that I have no Gran or Granddad any more. Thankfully it didn’t take too much more explanation. After all, if it’s a pet that’s dead they can go “to live on a farm”. If I said that with my grandparents the car with be packed up and the next family excursion would be to find the farm they were living on! We did the whole explaining they had got very old and then died and that led to Boo asking her Grans and Grandads how old they were and when they were going to die! Oh how we laughed!!

Is that person as old as God? - Boo actually asked this in a super market as we queued behind an gent at the checkouts. Thankfully he saw the funny side of it.

If this is Holy Gods house, where is he? - The question I have been asked by Boo and at least two godchildren / nephews. I think it was the disappointment that they didn’t get a personal audience for attending the church?

Can I marry a prince? - Asked after every Disney movie and also at the recent royal wedding. When D’Better Half replied that of course she could if she wanted, the next question addressed to her mammy was “Why didn’t you marry a prince then?” Charming. The question, not the prince!

Why do I have to be good? – A common question I’m sure and from pretty much November to December every parent, no matter how much they swear they wont, will resort to “Because Santa wont bring you stuff if you aren’t”. Ok, it’s not very moral to use that but if it works don’t knock it. But for the other ten months of the year it’s as if they know you don’t have any hold over them.

 This is often in tandem with Did you see me do that? – the ultimate challenge that could mean your child is heading for a career in the law courts. For Boo there is another defence of course. Was it Beanie who did that?

Can I have two more minutes (while holding up seven fingers)? – two more minutes before putting a game away, going home, getting ready for bed. I know Boo can count past ten, but I have never yet had the requested number of minutes match the shown fingers!

(Shouted up the stairs at 7am) Is Mammy still asleep? Should I still be quiet? – Need I explain this one? 

No matter what the questions keep coming and as soon as Beanie starts talking it will be stereo questions. Not that I would change their inquisitiveness for anything.

Would I?

Two weeks ago Boo was asking when the snow was going to be back. I tried explaining that it wont be back until the winter, all the time having the nagging memory in the back of my mind of a scout camp over and Easter in my youth when we awoke to a few inches of the white stuff on the landscape! With (some) confidence I told Boo that it would be nearly Christmas before she could expect to see snowflakes falling.

There was some debating of this and quite a bit of unhappiness at the thought of so many sleeps without any snowball fights. But then she realised that the absence of the snow forecast must mean that the nice weather is on the way. And sure enough the weather machinery operators obliged with a beautiful spell which will hopefully signal the start of the summer.

And Boo and Beanie have been making the most of it.

We are fortunate to live by the seaside so it doesn’t involve a trek to go for a walk by the sea. Boo adores it. She loves nothing more than grabbing an aunt or uncle to the tide line and hurling stones at the incoming waves. While the adults revert back to their formative years and attempt to perfect the skimming of the flat stones across the water surface, Boo perfects the art of lobbing the largest stones she can lift to create the biggest splash possible. Everyone expects she will land in the water herself but somehow she manages not to.

The sandpit at home is resurrected for another year and this time round beanie is old enough to get involved.

Boo builds the sand castle and beanie demolishes it.

Boo puts the spade down to pick up the bucket and beanie commandeers the spade for some urgent sand flicking exercises that cover both of them.

Boo makes her speciality Sand Pies and, yes you guessed it, Beanie decides to eat the sand. 

The Easter weekend always seems to mark the turning point of the activities. The plans no longer revolve around indoor games, arts and movies but are centred on getting out into the garden and playing in the sun. It’s wonderful to see how excited children can get just by being outdoors playing. And it’s the same in their Creche. The teachers have all said the kids love being able to have playtime in the garden. 

I hope it lasts. I know that when I was growing up, and I am sure many of you will be of the same view, our entire aim in life was getting outside. If there was a tree it was climbed, a river it was crossed and hazardous looking collection of wood beside a pile of nettles and thorns just had to be made into a ramp for the bikes. There were many a jump of legend where the joy of clearing the stinging undergrowth turned to horror as the bike plummeted to the ground and you realised there was a reason Evil Knevil had a ramp on the down side as well! 

With the turn in the weather Boo and Beanie are eager to spend every minute they can outside. I know there are many studies suggesting how children are becoming addicted to games and TV (and I am not arguing against them in every case) but I guess we are just lucky in that if the option is outside versus the DVD then the great outdoors is going to win. And that can only be good for them. But I am reminded that it wont be long before the confines of the back garden or helping mammy and daddy with the gardening will not be enough. The great adventure of “The Green” will have to be confronted one day. When that day comes Boo will have memorised the list of Dos and Donts. She will have a GPS tracking device attached to her wrist (or surgically implanted!!). I will have a new found need to undertake frequent walks up and down the estate and I will have a renewed concern about the state and upkeep of the public areas in the estate.

I am dreading the day already. (Imagine what I will be like when she goes away fro a weekend !!) 

But it isn’t this year, so for the next few months I will welcome the long nights and warm evenings. I will resurrect the BBQ and there will be plenty of fun memories to be had from this summer.

And then when they Boo and Beanie do break for The Green, I will long for the return of autumn and the short days with no time to play outside.

ABBA! There, I have said it, and already as you read this you are falling into one of three groups of people.

Group One is that band of devoted followers. To you a tribute act is not really a tribute but a pure and simple sacrilege. The chances are you are either Swedish, related to a Swede, a Eurovision fanatic or else trapped in some 70s time warp hell where ‘Wizzard’ drop by after lunch at Christmas, and Match Of The Day is still your main supply of footie on the telly.

Group Two members are currently running around looking for soap to plug their ears with until the very mention of “that band” is finished. These are the people who if the neighbours are playing Abba they will turn all speakers to the wall and blast out Metallica or such metal hammers as Spinal Tap! Most members of this group are male. Single males will not own an Abba record whilst married men tend to find the introduction of Abba by their spouses goes as far as their CDs going before AC/DC and Aerosmith in your music collection (assuming of course the strict alphabetical filing is adhered to!).

Group Three is the final grouping and that is where I now find myself. Turn on the radio and Abba are on and you can think that’s okay. When it’s back to back ABBA you start to get worried. When it’s three in a row and the realisation dawns that the CD has been put on then that is just a step too far to bear. I am in this grouping now but my dearest daughter is doing everything she can to move me to group two, the Abba-haters. And soon.

At nearly three, (I was informed the nearly bit is very very important!), she has been chewed up, swallowed and spat back out by the Abba revival. Not that they ever went away for long enough to require reviving. My sisters-in-law introduced her to Mama Mia the movie recently. And she loved it. Then they moved on to teaching her the words, I even suspect that some of the carers in the crèche are teaching her the words as well. She has since picked up a (sparely cute) little dance routine from somewhere; again suspicion falls to the crèche.

And all I hear from day break to bedtime is: “Mama Mia! Here I go again. “Doobie doobie doobie!” “Hold on a sec!” I hear even the most ardent ABBA-hater amongst you cry before you hide behind your pint of cider hoping no one else heard your outburst. Those are not the correct words as far as the seventies pop classic are concerned. But they are correct in the world of “Mama Mia – a musical tribute by a nearly three year old” and woe betides you if you sing the version as written by Benny and Bjorn.

We went away for a long weekend recently and ABBA was the constant companion in the car. That track, Mama Mia, seemed to be every third or fourth song played. I blame D’ Better Half for that. There was some secretive song selection going on to which I was not a party to. So Dublin to Cork was filled by Sweden’s finest pop exports. The return trip was no different either. Mind you, by the time we got back home the “doobie doobie doobies” were gone and D’ Better Half & the nearly three year old were at least singing the right words. “Mama Mia! Here I go again. My My! How can I resist you?” (Just in case anyone was going to Google them!). So at least something good came out of my trial by ABBA.

Until the next morning when the car started, the CD kicked in and the “doobie doobie doobies” were belted out once again. And I said a four letter word no nearly three year old should ever hear her rocker father say. “ABBA!”

So in tones of sarcasm usually saved for use outside the family circle I said quite simply, “Thank you Sweden! Thank you for the music, the songs they’re singing! Thanks for all the Doobie Doobie Doobies!” Sounds familiar actually! Hey Benny! Bjorn! Can you guys do anything with this?

There is a new phenomenon in the world of Cinema. It’s not generally recognised by Hollywood studios or by actors or directors. In fact I would guess that 99% of the people in those categories have never experienced this. But those of us who are parents with toddlers certainly shall have.

We took my daughter to see G-Force recently. That’s the one about the super spy Guinea Pigs, and not rats, mice, hamsters or any other type of rodent as many people tried to tell me. The clue is in the name people, G-FORCE (so it’s down to Guinea Pigs or Gerbils!!). Anyway, I digress. What an experience a trip to the cinema with a toddler is.

My daughter is at the “Why?” stage of her life, which I have been reliably informed lasts until she is at least 18 and probably beyond if she realises it’s getting to me! Here’s a taste of the questions just to get into the cinema.

“Why do we have to queue to get in?”

“Why is that man in the queue before us?”

“Why is daddy giving that lady money to let us into the cinema?”

“Why do we have to use the escalator to get to the cinema?”

“Why do escalators move?”

“What happens if I don’t jump when we get to the end?”

“Will the escalator eat me, like it eats the stairs?”

“Why does the seat fold up?”

“Will it fold up when I sit on it?”

Eventually we are settled in our seats and the lights go down as the picture starts. Now, you may or may not be aware but G-Force is a 3D movie, which means you have to wear the 3D glasses. That brought about a raft of questions about why we had to wear sunglasses indoors. In the dark. To watch the big telly!

You might think that the unending questions are the crux of what changes the cinema going experience when you take a toddler. You would be wrong. The real change, and there is no escaping it, is that every movie becomes two 30 minute shows with another half hour missing somewhere in the middle which you spend running around the foyer with / after your child who has decided they need a break from the strains of a Disney movie! So being a dutiful dad you say it’s okay to go out for a bit and have a “rest” and then we can come back in a minute. But one minute becomes 5, then ten, and then you stop counting.

And as soon as you decide that she won’t want to be going back in, she will turn to you and ask, “Where are the Gerbils?”

So you take her by the hand and head back into the cinema to see the ending of the movie. Her little eyes lighting up at the magic of the silver screen, the questions about sunglasses indoors being asked again and then the awed silence as she once again becomes engrossed in the storyline she has picked up as if the whole thing had just been on pause.

And all the time you are saying in your nicest, sweetest, most patient Daddy voice, “They’re not Gerbils, Honey. They are Guinea pigs!”